


Forget-Me-Not

by Sa_kun



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Coming Out, Family, Gay Male Character, Gen, Humor, Hurt, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-18
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 94,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sa_kun/pseuds/Sa_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world that has seemingly renounced all knowledge of the Harry Potter and the Boy-Who-Lived, a boy struggles to hold on to reality as he knows it, while at the same time coming to terms with who he really is. A curse, or a blessing in disguise? (Harry is gay)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Forget-Me-Not  
>  **Silly story notes and not so silly warnings:** In this story you will come across Harry/Charlie and Harry/Blaise. There will be couples of the same/opposite sex involved. Harry sees a psychologist. Snape is a veggie. Harry accidentally ends up running study/club nights. Teenage angst/drama included. This will be a Snape mentors/takes in Harry story. There will be angst and depression, but also comfort and light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel. Harry develops a stress induced eating disorder. Perhaps not so strange when it seems everyone he thought he knew abandoned and forgot about him.
> 
> **Notes:** This takes on a new direction after what happened at the Department of Mysteries.

* * *

_In a German legend, God named all the plants when a tiny unnamed one cried out, "Forget-me-not, O Lord!" God replied, "That shall be your name."_

* * *

—CHAPTER 1—

"Um, excuse me?"

Harry'd been standing outside the library for almost an hour before he had managed to convince himself to even go inside. He wasn't even going to think about how long it had taken him to convince himself he needed to this in the first place.

Because then he had to think about Sirius. And thinking about Sirius hurt too much.

The reason he'd ended up choosing a library was mainly because he'd heard from Hermione how you could find out almost anything from them, and, well. What he needed right now, almost desperately, was someone to talk to. Someone who didn't know him, who couldn't judge him, and would care a bleeding bit that he was Harry sodding Potter.

So it was with care he'd chosen the librarian who looked the least possible to be disgusted by him. Well, not him per se, but more the help he'd decided he needed. So it was thanks to that he'd approached a slightly plump woman who reminded him a lot of Mrs Weasley.

The woman looked up from the computer screen and gave Harry a smile. "What can I help you with, dear?"

Harry frowned, bit his lip, and then ploughed on. He'd made it this far, after all. He might as well go all the way. "I… I wanted to know where I could go if I needed someone to talk to. I'm not really from round here or familiar with London at all and the ones working at my old library were always great—"

"—at finding out exactly where you might find the kind of information you need?" She smiled again. Harry smiled back, relieved. "What kind do you need, then?"

For a short moment, Harry wasn't sure what to say.

"My brother's gay," he heard himself say after a moment or two. The woman nodded and Harry continued, "I don't want to upset him, not really, but I need someone to talk to, because, well. Because I do."

"Of course, dear," she replied almost at once. Harry couldn't tell if she was disgusted with him or not. It only took a moment or two before she had found something that suited his need. "Here, I'll just write down the address and the phone number."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Was there anything else?"

Harry carefully pocketed the note. "No, thanks. Goodbye."

"Have a nice day!"

It wasn't until Harry was outside again, sitting on the same bench under the same tree that he had been sitting on before he went in that he pulled out the note to see what it said.

_DOCTOR DEREK HAYES_ the name read, along with the number and an address. If Harry wasn't totally off the mark, it was within walking distance from Grimmauld Place. The phone number beckoned him. For a short moment he thought of going back inside to ask if he could borrow the phone.

" _If you don't do this now, you never will, Potter,_ " Harry told himself.

It still took him a good while longer before he found himself standing inside a phone box.

—x—

"Where are you going, Harry?"

Harry barely paused as he slipped on his shoes, but he did glance at Ginny. He slid a comfy cardy over his T-shirt. It was far too warm for much more than that.

"Out," he said shortly, and then disappeared before Ginny could react. He closed the door behind him. Harry quickly became indistinguishable from the busy crowd milling about outside. It wasn't that he didn't feel like explaining himself to her, it was more that he was afraid he'd start finding excuses – more than he already had – not to go. He'd almost called Dr Hayes' assistant twice already to tell them he couldn't make it.

Almost.

His hands had been trembling since he woke up that morning, and he'd almost not been able to fall asleep the night before. It wasn't that he was nervous, per se, it was just… Harry hated talking about himself. He hated people looking at him as if he were some kind of freak. Most of all, he was scared that there was something wrong with him. _Really_ wrong. Also…

…he didn't really need help, did he?

—x—

The assistant had been young and pretty. She had smiled at him, checked his name off in a book she had on the desk and told him to wait. Harry realised around then that maybe she wasn't an assistant, this Mss Winter, but rather a secretary. Miss Winter had sounded very nice on the phone, too, when she'd booked Harry's appointment in.

Having managed to be fifteen minutes early, instead of fifteen minutes late as he'd half expected to be, Harry had spent the time skimming through a gardening magazine.

"Mr Evans?" Miss Winters called.

Harry lurched up on his feet. "Yes?"

She smiled at him. "It's your turn."

"Oh." Harry flushed, fumbling as he put the magazine down. "Thanks."

"The door's open," Miss Winter told him. "You can just go in. Dr Hayes is expecting you."

Nodding, Harry bit his lip. For some reason, his stomach was more upset now about this than he normally was over a Quidditch match. Stepping inside, Harry closed the door softly behind him. For the longest moment, Harry stood just inside the comfy looking office and wrung his hands.

"Hi," he said, feeling very awkward and shy.

Dr Hayes smiled. "Hello, Mr Evans. Please, sit down."

Harry glanced at the sofa, then walked over and sat down. The sofa was a nice brown colour, and just soft enough that Harry didn't feel threatened to be swallowed by it. "Could you call me Harry?" Harry requested. Going to a psychologist was hard enough without being called by a name that wasn't really his. It'd been his Mum's, yeah, but never his.

"Of course, Harry. Will you call me Derek, then?"

"All right." Harry paused slightly. He could do that. "Derek." Yes, he could definitely do that. For some reason, it helped him feeling less exposed.

"Wonderful! Harry, when you made the appointment with my secretary, you told her that it was your brother with whom 'the problem', as it were, lay." Derek elegantly crossed his legs and slipped his glasses off in one motion. He fastened Harry with warm blue eyes for several long minutes without saying anything.

Harry shifted and fidgeted with the hem of his worn T-shirt. Harry could feel his cheeks burning, and suddenly he couldn't stand to look Derek in the eyes. He finally pulled off his own glasses, having convinced himself the lenses needed to be polished. He'd almost forgotten he'd used _that_ excuse with Miss Winters, too. 'Cause it wasn't like he'd _actually_ made up a story about it, was it? He didn't have a brother, and it was Harry who thought he was gay, and, well. Harry looked up when he heard Derek suddenly sigh. So Harry stopped fiddling with his glasses and put them back on.

Derek was still looking at him, but now he was smiling again. "That is not the case, is it, Harry?"

"Um. No." Harry squirmed and muttered, "What am I? A bloody window, or what?"

"Oh, no." Derek waved him off. "Just another, ordinary teenager. If it would make you feel any better I could, for instance, let you know that you are the second one this week."

"Yeah?" His heart was pounding like mad again, but it wasn't as bad today as it had been a month ago or so. These days, he was almost feeling normal again. But when it'd first hit him that, yeah, maybe he was gay, out of the blue one day, he'd been terrified. Terrified more, still, when that one idea wouldn't go away and instead had infested itself like a leech in his mind. And it was still there, whispering to him, but now he was almost used to it and didn't mind it as much. No, instead, he'd started feeling _free_.

"Yes." Derek nodded and slipped his glasses back on. "So tell me, Harry, why do you think you might be gay?"

"I don't know…I just…I just needed someone to talk to, at first. Because I couldn't get the thought that maybe I was, um, _like that_ , out of my head. Or, well, that's what I thought, but I didn't really know why I'd want to talk to someone, or with who, but then… This one day, I just thought to myself: 'what if you're queer, Harry?' and I then I couldn't get the thought out of my head. I was going mad there, for a bit, I think. And then…then one day, I got up a bit earlier — I live at a boarding school — and this upper level student…I'd never really noticed him before, but I did then," he was rambling and not making any sense, he knew that, but he couldn't get himself to stop. Harry swallowed, half expecting the man to interrupt and say something, but when he didn't, Harry shakily continued, "He was naked. In the shower and I just…I just…" He blushed, horribly, and by Derek's somewhat amused, knowing smile, he gathered that Derek understood just fine without Harry spelling it out for him. "It's not like I hadn't seen naked blokes before, you know? But right then…" Harry shook his head and trailed off. He defensively crossed his arms over his chest.

"And so you decided that perhaps there was more to your offhand thought than you had previously thought?"

"Yeah." He bit his lip and mumbled, "And then…after that, I really started to…notice, you know, _stuff_."

" _Stuff_ , yes." Derek smiled. "'Stuff' you had previously paid no heed?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I realised that I'd never actually liked a girl. I thought I did, once, you know? But then I started thinking about it, and… She was Asian, this girl, and, I mean, some of them are…rather…boyish, you know? Slim and slender, small breasts, darker voices…"

Derek appeared to consider that. "You might be right about that. But, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Now that you have started to accept this new part of yourself, have you always known, do you think?"

"That I'm, you know, um."

"Gay, Harry." Derek smiled. "The word is gay. Try it."

Harry stalled. Then he shook his head. "I think I've always been?" he ventured instead. "I know, when I was little, that I didn't like holding hands with other boys 'cause I'd get tingles down my spine, and I think I knew that I wasn't supposed to, that it was bad, so I avoided doing things like that. And now, looking back, I guess I see that I always looked at blokes a bit differently than my friends do."

Because he had, hadn't he? He'd always noticed which blokes looked good and who didn't. He'd noticed that Fred and George had these really large, warm hands. He'd noticed that Cedric was really handsome, that Oliver's eyes were intent and focused _just at you_ in a way that made him a right deal fitter than he probably was. And he'd had all those muscles, too. Bill was bloody hot, too, and— Harry noticed that Derek was looking at him.

"I was just thinking."

"Tell me." It wasn't an order or a command, or an attempt to force Harry. Just honest curiosity and a will to help.

"Thinking back, I think the first time I had a crush on someone, I was seven. I think his name was Teddy. We were in the same class, and he was the only one who was kind to me. I remember that he had very pretty eyes, and that he liked drawing a lot. I'd pretend I did, too, because then I could sit with him instead of with the other boys who didn't like me."

Harry spent the rest of his hour talking about his childhood. He skirted around the topic of his relatives, not even mentioning them once. Instead, Derek helped him look back and unlock knots of emotions and tangled feelings he had mostly ignored.

Because it had always been easier to push them away.

Because they had always made him uncomfortable.

"Have I scared you off, or will you come back?" Derek's tone was teasing.

Harry smiled. "You think I should?"

"I think there are many subjects you need to talk about, yes."

Harry started. "How…"

"I'm a psychologist, Harry," Derek chided. "I notice when there are topics you shy away from. I believe it would make you feel better if you were to talk about it. How do you feel right now?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought about how he felt, to be honest, but… "Yeah," he admitted, "I guess I feel a bit relived that you don't think I'm a freak or something. I was really nervous about coming here, you know. I almost didn't."

"I'm glad you did."

"Me, too." Harry gave Derek a shy smile.

"Come back in a week, Harry," Derek told him just before he left.

"Okay. I will."

And he did, and continued to do so, once a week, for the rest of the holiday.

—x—

"G'morning, Charlie," Harry mumbled round a yawn. Harry stood in the doorway of the sitting room, rubbing his neck.

"Oh, hi, Harry." Charlie gave him a short nod, munching on a sandwich as he lay comfortably stretched out on a sofa.

Charlie's shirt was rumpled and had slid partway up his stomach. It wasn't even properly buttoned. Harry couldn't help but notice the firm muscles, the trail of red hair leading down his stomach, disappearing down his trousers, the tantalising trail of freckles everywhere, and yes, Charlie actually had freckles even down _there_. Hmmm, Harry mused, cocking his head to the side. He absentmindedly wondered how far down the freckles really went. Of all the Weasleys, Charlie really was the one who had the most freckles, wasn't he? It was kinda hot.

"Harry?"

Harry started. He blinked, then yawned again. "What?"

"Did I spill something on m'trousers?"

Frowning, Harry looked at Charlie's trousers, then met Charlie's gaze. Charlie's eyes were twinkling, as if he were very amused by something. Green eyes widened and Harry whirled round, cheeks red.

_Oh bloody hell,_ no _!_

"Um, no, Charlie. Sorry," he choked out. He hurried out of the room.

Juice, he decided, he needed some good orange juice.

—x—

"My best friend's second oldest brother's bloody fit," he confided to his psychologist at their next session.

Derek gave him a sly smile. "Congratulations, Harry. Enjoy the rush of emotions."

Harry just shook his head, forehead furrowed. "No, Derek, you don't understand! Their mother practically considers me to be her eighth kid!"

Derek blinked. "Oh my. She must be a…formidable woman."

"She is." Harry smiled. "She's wonderful."

"But?"

Harry shrugged. "I…I don't know. I mean, Charlie's… He's…"

"Yes?"

"He's really fit. And nice. He jokes a lot, and he's got this laugh that's irresistible. And his hands are, I dunno. I guess I just like his hands. But Mrs W, she's… I think she wants me to be with her daughter, if I end up with any of her kids, I mean. I don't think she'd mind per se that I…that I'd choose a bloke over Ginny, but I'm not sure if she'd really welcome it? If you know what I mean?"

"A woman with that many children has probably experienced everything a mother could possibly experience, Harry. And she would also know by now what to expect from them, am I right?"

"She's always pestering the twins about settling down and finding girlfriends. She was always on Bill about cutting his hair, but since he started dating Fleur she's stopped nagging him about it. I dunno if she's ever on Charlie about that, I've never heard anything, so I don't really know.

"And I really like Mrs W. She's got the nicest hugs. She always knits jumpers for her kids at Christmas. They all think it's the worst thing ever, but… I think those jumpers are probably the best present I ever get, every year. She's a real, proper mum, I always thought. If… I wish my mum would've been like that."

"What do you mean, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Mum and Dad died when I was a baby. I… My relatives took me in, but they always resented me for it."

Derek frowned. "So much so that you noticed?"

"I can't remember not being told how much they hated that I'd been forced on them, Derek. Aunt Petunia fell out with Mum when they were young, I think, and she's just projected it all over on me."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry bit his lip. Did he want to talk about it? He probably needed to; he'd never really told anyone about the Dursleys, but… Heart hammering, he shook his head. "Not now. I… I need to prepare myself, I…"

"That's fine, Harry." Derek's voice had an instantaneous calming effect on Harry. "Tell me more about Mrs W."

Harry grinned. "Okay. I've got lots to tell about her."

—x—

It was like the whole 'what if you're queer, Harry?' thing all over again. Whenever Harry turned round, Charlie'd be there. Fit, gorgeous and set Harry's nerves, and hormones, on edge. If his palms were sweaty now and his hands trembling, it wasn't because he thought he might be gay, oh no. It was because of Charlie.

And Derek had been right, because Harry's emotions were all over the place. His heart'd be racing one instant, the next he'd feel down because he hadn't seen Charlie for a week or two. And so it went, over and over, the entire fucking summer.

That wasn't even taking into account all the times Harry actually talked to Charlie, or took a walk with him, or cooked with him. No, those times, Harry was so deliriously happy that he felt like he didn't even need to see Derek any more. He felt like his old self again. Those times, Harry even managed to forget that Sirius was dead.

It was late at night. Almost too late, really, but Harry wasn't caring at the moment. He'd just had another session with Derek earlier that day, and while it did give him a sense of peace, it also brought along a steady rush of confusion and strange emotions. Most of the time, he'd dealt with them by the time he made it back to the house. Not this time, though. No, because Charlie was _really_ hot, and Harry wasn't really sure what to make of it. On the one hand, he was still awfully awkward about being gay, but on the other hand he was (almost) sixteen and randy. Yeah, he was working on putting the two together.

But Charlie. Harry smiled to himself. Charlie was just bloody hot.

Everyone had already eaten by the time Harry slipped into the kitchen and efficiently made himself a sandwich before sneaking upstairs, unnoticed. He briefly wondered what Ron and Hermione would make of all his secrecy, before pushing that thought out of his mind. They were busy, not round much and Harry felt relieved for it — less explaining to do on his part. He could just imagine Hermione's reaction. While probably the complete opposite of Ron's reaction, he didn't think he'd enjoy it all that much better.

There was a knock on his door, then Charlie stuck his head inside. "Fancy a game of cards, mate?"

Harry grinned. Just like that, his worries were gone. "Didn't know you were back." Harry pulled off his cardy, tossed it onto his bed and walked over to Charlie.

Charlie smiled at him, showing off his dimples. Harry's heart pounded. "Well, here I am. I even brought a little something back for you."

"You did?"

"How could I resist?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Wanker. Well, what is it?"

"You'll see. But how about a game of cards? Or…"

"Or what?"

Charlie's grin turned impish. "I've always wondered what the 'Cin- _eh_ ma' was."

Harry burst out laughing. "Don't listen to Mr Weasley, Charlie!" Harry chided him playfully. "It's cinema, and it's real fun. D'you know what a film is?"

"Yes." Charlie nodded. "Lena back in Romania has a tellvision—"

"No, no. Television. Telly."

"Right, telly! That's neat. She's got a telly, and she let all of us watch a film on it, once."

"At the cinema, they show the films on really large tellies, basically."

Charlie nodded. He seemed to like the idea. "Let's do that, then."

"You want to go to the cinema?"

"Yeah. It sounds like it's fun."

Harry was grinning so hard he thought his face was going to split in half. Charlie was just so gorgeous when he was happy about something, or enthralled. His dimples came out, his eyes sparkled and he was gesticulating with his hands. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Harry went back inside his room for the cardy he'd discarded earlier, and for his wallet. He had Muggle money in it these days, since he spent so much time with Derek. He had his ID in there, with another name on it, and a credit card he'd managed to set up with a Muggle bank. He'd deposited a couple hundred pounds into it, just so that he'd always have cash in the Muggle world if he needed it. Sitting down on his bed, he tied his shoes a bit more securely. Last thing he wanted was for the ties to come undone. He'd better things to do than tie his shoelaces when he was with Charlie.

He was going to the cinema with _Charlie_. Harry smiled to himself.

"Harry. Catch!"

Harry looked up just in time to see a square shaped packet sail through the air. He caught it by reflex.

"Neat."

"Thanks. What is it?"

"Someone said your birthday's coming up."

"A present, for me?" Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"Well, open it!" Charlie came over and sat down next to him. "It's non-refundable, just so you know."

"Twat," Harry muttered. He was almost certain he was blushing, _again_ – fucking hormones, he berated himself – so he focused on the square shaped gift covered in blue wrapping paper. The string was an ordinary brown one, the sort you always had laying around. Still, it was no match for Harry, and he'd torn it open in no time.

"Neat!" he exclaimed, once he saw what was inside. It was dragon themed – go figure – but it still was really neat. "Thank you!"

"Yeah, so it's got dragons on them, and, yeah, you're not strictly speaking of age yet, but I figured you'd have some use for them, some day."

"I'm gonna drink orange juice in them," Harry decided. Technically, they were tumblers meant for whiskey. There were four of them, each with its own special etching of a dragon. Unlike Muggle etchings, these ones were coloured exactly like the dragons they represented, and they moved.

Charlie chuckled. "There's a whole set of them. Sort of collector's item, I suppose. There's one for each species of dragon."

"So there's eight more, then?"

Charlie's smile was delightfully surprised. "Yeah, exactly."

"I know my dragons," Harry boasted, feeling immensely proud of himself for having managed to impress Charlie. "Well, that there are twelve sorts, anyway. But really, Charlie. Thank you."

Charlie's ears were suddenly bright red – Weasley red. "You're welcome, Harry. It was nothing, really—"

"It wasn't nothing." Harry nudged Charlie with his shoulder. "I really like them. They're great. I'll have to buy the other eight, now, too."

"I'll see if you can find them in Diagon Alley, otherwise just let me now and I'll smuggle them in for you." Charlie winked. Harry smiled.

"The cinema, was it?" Charlie prompted him.

Harry glanced at the time – around ten, not terribly late technically speaking. "Let's see if we can find a place with midnight shows."

The latest habit Harry'd picked up was reading the Metro, the free paper, while he waited for his turn with Dr Derek. He got a decent enough grasp of the latest Muggle news, and it was ten times more interesting than the gossip mags that Miss Winter supplied the office with. The Metro lay folded on his desk, along with several other older copies he hadn't tossed yet. After opening it, he started paging through it backwards. If he remembered correctly, they put the opening hours and what films the cinemas had pretty far back.

It was while reading through the lists of films that Charlie came up to stand next to him.

"Anything good?"

Harry shrugged. "There's _the Mummy_ ," he answered.

" _The Mummy_?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, it's either that or _the Spy Who Shagged Me_. Personally, I reckon _the Mummy's_ a whole lot better. Muggle take on it, and all. And I'm not talking about mums, now."

"Could be interesting," Charlie agreed. He placed the gift Harry'd just opened on the desk. "So you don't sit on them by accident."

"How thoughtful of you."

"I'm just that type of bloke, Harry." Charlie squeezed Harry's shoulder.

—x—

They found the cinema with plenty of time to spare – not that it bothered either of them overly much that they had to wait for half an hour until the film started – and bought their tickets. There were plenty of benches to sit on, and the cinema had magazines about the films they were showing. Which was rather good, Harry reckoned, because neither him nor Charlie had much of an idea what _the Mummy_ was really about.

"So we're going to look at this for the next two hours?" Charlie held up the magazine, looking at the picture. "Had a boyfriend who looked a lot like this bloke, once," he told Harry, still studying the picture. He tapped the man in question with a freckled finger.

Harry went beet red. "O-oh." He felt elated. Absolutely ecstatic. His heart was pounding, his hands trembling. He was hard-pressed to contain his smile, because otherwise he'd be grinning like a loon. _Charlie was gay!_

"You're not gonna be all weird about it, are you?" Charlie gave Harry a frank look.

"Um. No. I… Why?"

"Blokes your age normally are." Charlie paused. "Well, wizards _all_ ages normally are," he amended.

"Oh," Harry said again, feeling a bit stupid. "I don't mind," Harry said. It would've been the perfect time to tell Charlie that he was gay, too, but… The words stuck on his tongue, and suddenly he couldn't say anything at all. Harry looked at the big clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes left.

"Um. D'you want some sweets or popcorn maybe?"

"Not really."

"Oh." Harry wet his lips. "Well, I do."

He was not running away, Harry told himself firmly. He was just walking a bit faster than normally because he wanted to buy some popcorn. _Right, you plank_ , he scolded himself, _you're gay yourself, Charlie's just gay, not some new species you've never heard of before_. He bought himself a tub of popcorn, medium sized in case Charlie wanted some, too, and a large bottle of pop. He could share that with Charlie, too.

Harry gave Charlie a small, shy smile as he sat back down next to him on the bench.

"Look, I didn't mean to—"

"Popcorn?"

"Harry—"

Harry shoved some popcorn in Charlie's open mouth.

"It's fine, really. I, um. Don't really care. I mean, there are worse things out there, you know? Than being, um. You know."

" _Gay_ ," Charlie drawled, "I'm _gay_ , Harry."

"Shut up," Harry muttered. "Here I bought a drink." He shoved it into Charlie's hand. "You hold it."

"Aw, Harry, how sweet." Charlie batted his eyelashes. "I had no idea you wanted to share a drink with me."

"Shut up, you twat!" Harry snapped, but he was grinning. He sort of liked it when Charlie teased him.

"They call it indirect kissing, you know," Charlie whispered in his ear. Harry shivered. "The exchange of saliva, placing your lips where mine has just been—"

"You're such an utter plank!" Harry hissed, trying not to laugh. _Fuck, his prick was so hard_. Sometimes, he hated being a teenager. It was just, Charlie's lips had almost been touching his ear, and Charlie's warm, humid breath had made his spine tingle, and his insides feel real heavy. "What are we, six?"

"Ten, I'd say," Charlie corrected, easy grin spread across his face. "D'you want me to hold your hand when the mummy comes, in case you get scared?"

By now, the place was full of people, with only five minutes to go until the film started.

"Twat."

"You've got such a wicked tongue, Potter."

Harry's face flamed. He was saved by someone calling out that their auditoriumwas open and that they could go inside and find their seats.

"Come on," he muttered. Harry held the tickets in one hand, and the popcorn in the other, with Charlie walking behind him. Harry could just tell he was being grinned at.

After showing their tickets to the cinema guard, Charlie pushed past him, nicked the tickets, and led the way. They'd got seats fairly close to the back, but still somewhat in the centre. Seeing the size of the cinema, Harry just hoped they wouldn't be sitting too far in the back. Sometimes, he really hated that he was short-sighted.

"Look, Harry," Charlie told him, patting the armrest between their seats, "We can place _our_ drink here." Indeed, there was a holder for it. Charlie took great delight in putting the bottle there.

"I knew I should've taken _two_ straws."

Charlie laughed. "That's no fun."

Silently, Harry agreed.

The lights dimmed and the projector was started. Harry realised he couldn't remember ever actually being in a cinema before. It was hardly something the Dursleys would've taken him too, after all. It started with trailers for other films, and a bunch of commercials. Harry found himself explaining what that was to Charlie, who hadn't encountered that when he'd watched that film at his Romanian friend's place.

It also wasn't long until he found that Charlie's leg was pressed up against his leg, or that he had unconsciously turned his body towards Charlie's, just so that their bodies would touch more than strictly necessary. As the film progressed, Harry noticed that Charlie wasn't exactly complaining about it, and Harry wondered how long, exactly, they'd been sharing the armrest and that Charlie'd been tickling the back of Harry's hand with his fingers.

It made him feel warm inside, that heavy feeling from before back again. His heart was pounding, but Harry was sure he'd never felt better in his life.

* * *

**See you in a week.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

—CHAPTER 2—

Derek had a strange gleam in his eyes when Harry entered the by now familiar room and seated himself on the sofa opposite to Derek's armchair the following week.

"Derek?" he asked, apprehension swirling in his gut. HARRY really didn't like the look in Derek's normally gentle eyes. His blue eyes were normally bright and warm, somehow. Usually, they invited Harry to speak and share his secrets without a second thought, he wasn't sure why, but Derek's eyes had that effect on him. So now, today, seeing them all disconnected and shadowed… It sent a frisson of fear and discomfort down Harry's spine.

"A week ago my adopted son received a very strange letter," Derek began, voice hushed.

The low voice and furtive glance at the door made Harry frown, his stomach churning with a sudden onslaught of nervousness.

"The letter was made of parchment, Harry. So my partner and I took Tom – that's our son's name – as the letter requested, to an abandoned building with an old fashioned phone box." Dread swiftly replaced Harry's earlier apprehension and he paled, wondering how he could have been so bloody stupid as go to a Muggle for advice. Suddenly he knew exactly where this was going and he didn't like it the slightest, oh no. "They, in turn, took us to a highly remarkable pub."

"…the Leaky Cauldron," Harry murmured, surprised at how steady his voice sounded, given how he felt as if someone had just pulled the floor out from underneath his feet.

"Yes," Derek said simply.

Was it possible to hate such a small, simple and uncomplicated word? Right then, Harry almost did.

Harry bit his lip and looked away, feeling both sad and ashamed, and the worst part, he reckoned, was that he wasn't really sure why he felt that way. Was it because his lie had been called, or because now Derek'd _know_ he was Harry Potter, and he'd probably been told so much else… Or was it because, for some reason, it felt like his entire world had just come crashing down his ears. Over the few weeks that Harry had been to see Derek, the man had somehow become his one safety line. Security blanket. Derek was a constant; Derek didn't change. He was always the same, always treated Harry as if he was the most normal, wonderful bloke in the whole of London.

But he'd done that because he'd thought Harry was someone else. Because he thought Harry was Harry Evans. Because he was a Muggle – utterly clueless about wizards and magic and lightning bolt-shaped scars.

Because he didn't know that Harry was really Harry Potter; and even if Derek had known, he wouldn't have _known_.

Until now.

"Imagine my surprise, Harry, to learn that not only have you been lying to me, but that there is not a single person in the Magical Community who does not know who you are. Harry Potter. Insane. Dangerous. Questionably dark. The warning speech to stay away from you was rather illogical and convoluted."

Harry flinched. "I'm sorry, Derek. I'll leave, all right?" he muttered. His eyes stung.

"No. Stay." Harry's heart pounded. Derek shook his head, pulling off his glasses. He rubbed his eyes. "Nothing they said matches anything of what I've learned directly from you. It does, however, offer you a unique opportunity should you wish to take it."

Harry couldn't close his mouth. His hands were trembling so bad he couldn't even clench them into fists. Did that mean Derek wasn't about to toss him out on his ear?

"I'm not going to demand that you leave. Harry," Derek said, seeing and once again reading Harry correctly. Derek was really good at that. "I know who you are; I have known all along. It's just that I know more now."

Harry frowned. He blinked several times, then shifted around until he was curled up on the sofa, his feet tucked up underneath him.

Derek smiled, a tiny little smile. "I am a mere 'Muggle', Harry. I can't judge you. But I can read up on you, now. And this means you won't have to hold back any more. You can tell me about magic, if you want."

A hesitant smile settled on Harry's face. He crossed his arms and shifted around on the sofa, until he was stretched out in a proper slouch so that his toes could burrow beneath the soft pillow on the other end of it. His feet were bare, the shoes having been toed off almost before he'd sat down properly on the couch. "It'll all be a bunch of lies, anyway, y'know, if you read up on me," he blurted, before changing the subject. "When I was little all I wanted was for someone to come take me away. And it happened. Is happening. But now…now I just want to be little Potty Potter again… A nobody. Nobody gave a toss back then about what I did or said."

"You were bullied as a child?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. Back then, I just thought it was normal, though. Didn't realise until I was about ten or so that no one else had freak cousins they treated like House Elves." Derek frowned. "Magical beings. They cook and clean, most treat them worse than slaves, most of the time."

Derek smiled humourlessly, then said, "I thought you might have been abused as a child."

"Yeah?" Harry asked shakily. He wasn't that obvious, was he? It was just, if it was that obvious, then why hadn't anyone noticed?

"Yes. It's in the way you talk, in the way you act. But I got the feeling you would not appreciate being outright asked."

Harry was sure his heart stopped beating for a moment. "That's just, just mad!" he exclaimed. "I'm not like that! It's not like that! You know, I read in the paper once that it wasn't the adults' job to ask! 'Cause that would've been too fucking easy, so big bloody 'NO' to that. And, oh, no," Harry sneered, "we have to bloody well work up the courage and come out and say it ourselves, because God knows if we don't, then we bloody well don't deserve to be saved. I wasn't… They didn't—" Harry scowled, glaring at his toes. "I _still_ can't bloody say it!" he burst out.

"And why is that, Harry? I know; you can tell me."

Harry's eyes blazed. "I don't bloody well know!"

"Please, indulge me. Why do you think that is?"

"Perhaps, because the one time I _did_ tell, they didn't believe me?" he yelled. "They said I was a nasty little liar, that I was always making up these big, fancy ideas and _no one ever believed me_!"

"Harry. It was not your fault." Derek said this very slowly, ignoring Harry's disbelieving scoff, the man went on to say, "Perhaps a part of it is because you still believe, as some do, that you, in some way, deserved what they did to you."

"Well of course I did!" Harry shouted before he could stop himself.

"No." Derek shook his head, a kind smile on his lips. "No, Harry, you don't. You never have. _It was not your fault_."

Harry paused. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on edge even more than was normal, even for him. "I…"

"Yes?"

"I used to do a lot accidental magic when I was a kid," he heard himself say. "My Aunt and Uncle hated it. They'd punish me. I didn't know about magic when I was little, though, so I never got what it was that I did that was so bad. And Dudley, my cousin, he and his friends they had this game called 'Harry Hunting'. I only got away if I could run the fastest. I hated it when they caught me," the words were tumbling out almost on their own. Harry almost hated that he had to breathe, because he was afraid if he stopped, then he wouldn't be able to start talking again. "I'd be locked up inside…inside… They'd lock me up—"

"Harry?"

Harry took a slow, deep breath, then let it out just as carefully. "In my cupboard. My Aunt and Uncle'd lock me up in my cupboard. I'd get water, maybe, but not food. I had…I had to earn food. And I was never good enough, not to them. My tummy hurt _so_ much. I can't remember not doing all the chores. I've been cooking and cleaning for them since I could walk, I—" Harry sucked in a deep breath. "They never hit me, much. Just slapped me round. I thought my name was 'Boy' or 'Freak' for years." Harry had been talking to his feet, not looking up at Derek once.

Derek placed a hand over his. "Harry," he said, coaxing Harry to look up. "Thank you for telling me."

"Derek?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I told, once."

"Who did you tell?"

Harry bit his lip, tugged at his T-shirt. "My nursery school teacher. I told her about…about— them. And then she told the headmaster, who called Aunt and Uncle. They were so angry," he whispered. "They shouted at me, said I was a filthy little boy. A liar. And, and they _told_ the headmaster and my teacher that, said that I was a nasty little liar who made up the nastiest tales for just a little bit of attention."

He hadn't been given food for a week. They'd locked him up in his cupboard for days on end. It was one of the few times he could remember that his Uncle actually slapped him around.

"Will it go away now?" Harry asked in a shy, small voice.

"It is a gradual process, Harry, but I think we can work on it, together, for it to go away. All right?"

Harry nodded, giving Derek a shy smile. "All right."

—x—

The next time Harry saw Derek, was a Wednesday. It was a bad day. He hadn't felt this awful since… Probably since he thrashed Dumbledore's office.

"Harry?" Derek prompted him, just once.

Harry took a deep breath. Then, feeling as if he were about to cry, said, "My godfather died."

"Would you like to tell me about him?" Derek asked in a hushed tone.

Harry nodded. He'd brought his knees up on the sofa and was hugging them to his chest. "His name was Sirius Black," Harry began, and the rest of the tale tumbled out after that one, simple sentence. About the Shrieking Shack in third year, about Buckbeak, about how he'd been given his broom by him.

About how Sirius had really been the only family he'd ever had. At least the only family who'd ever wanted him. Harry worked his way up to fifth year, and once he started talking about fifth year, other tales tumbled out. He distracted himself by telling Derek first about Umbridge and her detentions. He even showed the scar on his hand. Then, when that became too close for comfort, he changed the subject again and started talking about Snape. It took a lot of time explaining about Occlumency and the pensive.

Derek stared at him for several long seconds, his eyes thoughtful. "Do you understand why he was so angry with you?"

"'Cause I'd seen how awful my Dad and his friends were to him," Harry answered promptly.

Derek didn't appear satisfied with that answer. "How did you feel?"

"I felt ashamed and horrible that Dad was a bully. I felt that if I'd have been at school with them, he probably would've bullied me, too."

Derek considered him again. "How did you feel about the fact that you, in your own words, basically raped your professor's mind, exposing his most guarded secrets, Harry?"

"But…Dumbledore let me watch his."

"Harry, you said yourself how you absolutely hated that Professor Snape could see your thoughts, your memories."

"Yeah. I did."

"Because they were _yours_." Harry nodded. "Would he have done it if Professor Dumbledore hadn't told him to do it?"

Harry's instantaneous 'yes' died on his tongue. Snape might have read his thoughts, the ones at the front of his mind that he couldn't help but project as he ate, talked, thought. But Harry couldn't ever remember feeling someone actually break into his mind, _ever_. "No," Harry admitted.

"So what you did was break into a defenceless mind. Professor Snape was given no chance to defend himself. Because you felt it was your right. Because you were curious. Harry," Derek urged, "it wasn't your right. While throwing a jar at your head might not have been the best response, Professor Snape was entirely in his right to throw you out. Do you understand?"

The confusion must have shown on his face, because Derek pursed his lips for a little while. Then he said, "Harry, what you did was bad. Do you understand?"

"Bad, how?" Harry whispered.

"You broke his trust. Professor Dumbledore was wrong not to inform you how badly you had misbehaved when you stumbled into his pensive. I think, at the very least, that you owe your Professor Snape an apology." Derek paused. "But, you won't apologise until you mean it. There is no greater insult than empty words."

"Okay," Harry agreed, feeling utterly confused and mortified at the same time. "I will."

"This is something we need to work on and expand. It comes back to your Aunt and Uncle, Harry," Derek explained gently. "Their punishments of you were illogical and inconsistent. But they didn't care, something you've told me they made quite clear." Harry nodded, eyes lowered. "So you didn't, either. You never learned to feel remorse, guilt or feel as if you were a naughty boy. You learned evasion, how to get away and how to be invisible."

"I always felt I was the one who was right, that they didn't understand me at all, 'cause they hated me so much," Harry admitted.

Derek offered him some tea, then, and biscuits which Harry half-heartedly nibbled on.

"Will you tell me about your godfather now, Harry?"

Harry choked. "Okay," he whispered. So he haltingly began to tell Derek about what had happened after he had looked into Snape's pensive, and after he'd been captured in Umbridge's office.

He told Derek about the Department of Mysteries.

He told Derek about the fight. About the confusion. He didn't tell him about the Prophecy, or how Voldemort had possessed him.

He told Derek how Sirius'd been hit by a curse and how he'd fallen, behind the Veil.

That was a hurt he knew how to feel. And a guilt he was very familiar with.

Harry wasn't quite prepared when Derek told him it wasn't his fault.

—x—

Harry didn't look up when there was a knock on the door. "S'open," he called.

He was folding his clothes, alternatively hanging them up properly in his closet. They were all freshly laundered and all smelled of sunlight and freshly mowed grass. They'd been hung up to dry outside. He knew there were probably fancy spells he could've used instead, but he wasn't of age, yet, and besides, he rather liked hanging his clothes up outside to dry them. Last summer, it must have been either Kreacher or Mrs Weasley who'd washed his clothes, but since neither of them were here this summer, well. It wasn't like Harry'd never done it before.

There was a laundrette a couple of streets down from Grimmauld Place. Harry'd dragged his dirty laundry there every Sunday since he'd left the Dursleys. Maybe there was another way for him to do it magically, but no one had ever bothered to tell him about it, and he definitely wasn't about to start washing his clothes by hand. Besides, doing it the Muggle way meant he at least had _something_ to do other than seeing Derek and pining for Charlie. Not that he was pining, exactly, but he did spend an awful amount of time fantasising.

Mostly, Charlie was suave and seductive, finding Harry in his bedroom dark at night, or walking in on him in the shower not-entirely-by-mistake, or Charlie was taking a nap on the sofa downstairs, and Harry would walk inside the room without noticing. Charlie's shirt'd be gone, and his hair'd be tousled and sexy. They'd talk about something, about what wasn't important. Harry'd stop listening, because Charlie's fit chest would distract him, and—

"'Lo, Harry."

Harry jumped.

"Charlie! Hi." Harry smiled. His ears felt white-hot, his fingers suddenly a touch or two unsteady. He was just glad he wasn't entirely red in the face.

Charlie smiled back at him.

Harry wet his lips. "I didn't know you were back," he said lamely.

"Arrived just this morning," Charlie told him.

The smile on Charlie's face made Harry's heart speed up – well, more than it was already racing after having had Charlie unknowingly walk in on him while having a fantasy about _walking in on Charlie_. Well, sort of, anyway. Charlie closed the door behind his back. It wasn't until then that Harry considered how long it'd been since he'd last seen Charlie. Charlie'd only stayed a couple of days after they'd gone to the cinema, then he'd had to go back to Romania. That had been three weeks ago.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Well, you see. There was this thing Ginny wanted me to do."

"Yeah?" Why couldn't Ginny ask him herself?

Charlie rolled on the balls of his feet, looking rather content and not all that concerned. "I have been commanded to 'talk' to you about your…behaviour lately, was it?"

Harry looked up and frowned, his eyes narrowed. "My what?"

Charlie shrugged. "Your behaviour, Harry. She says you've been going off at odd hours, sneaking around. I dunno." Charlie walked over and sat down on the bed, next to the pile of clothes Harry was going through.

"Oh. I see." Harry balled up a pair of socks and tossed them towards his sock drawer. "She could've asked."

Charlie leaned back. "Is it just me, or is everyone acting strange lately?"

That made Harry pause. "I haven't really thought about it, I've been so caught up with, with…" …with himself, too busy to take note of what going on around him. Unless it had something to do with Charlie, of course. "Your parents haven't really been here once this summer, have they? I don't think I've seen Ron and Hermione since middle of June, either." Had he really been so busy that he hadn't noticed that?

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "Ginny's here. Snape, Lupin. Dumbledore from time to time. I asked Mum and Dad before I came over, but… I dunno. They just said not to worry about it, that it'd all work out for the best, I'd see. And so on." Charlie shook his head. "Enough about that. How've you been since our date?"

Harry's face rivalled the colour of Charlie's hair. Not exactly an easy feat. "Our what?" he stammered.

Charlie's grin was easy and teasing. "You know, when I took you to the cinema. Shared a drink with you. The armrest, even, if I remember right." Charlie nudged him on the shin with his foot. "You have been watching me, right?"

Harry shrugged. This time, he was watching his toes and his fingers were trembling as he folded his socks. "So what if I have?" he muttered.

"Maybe I've been watching you, too?" Charlie said, voice deep and low. His foot rubbed slowly up and down on Harry's shin.

Harry started. _Charlie fancied him?_ His heart was pounding like mad. He must have been grinning like a loon. But… Blanching, Harry hurriedly held up a hand, and almost blurted, "Still not really comfy about the whole, um, gay thing, mate. With the, um, sex and all. I've been told to just, you know, let it take its time. And, I mean—"

"Harry." Harry closed his mouth with an audible click. "No rush, okay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed. His smile was much shyer now.

But then Charlie's face lit up in a decidedly scary, but fuck so sexy, way. "But that means that one day I _do_ get to shag you, doesn't it?"

"God," Harry squeaked, throat dry and heart hammering away entirely too fast and hard in his chest. _Charlie wanted to shag him?_ Harry's prick was standing to attention at the mere mention of it, but his mind wasn't quite as keen on the idea. It was starting to become appealing, but he wasn't quite all the way there yet. "Yes. Definitely!"

"Oh, yes," Charlie agreed. "Definitely." He stood up and arched his back. Harry's eyes were riveted to the freckled skin that peeked out.

Harry grinned, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Yes. Great!"

But then Charlie reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders. Harry stumbled, righted himself and looked up. Charlie's eyes were level with his own. And he was so close – _so fucking close_! "Charlie—"

"Just a moment," he whispered. His hands were on either side of Harry's face, holding him close but not really restraining him.

Then Charlie kissed him. It was warm, wet and bloody wonderful.

"Oh," Harry said, blinking his eyes. His hands were on Charlie's sides, resting on the warm, firm body. Harry didn't think he'd ever felt anything that felt as good before. Except for that kiss. That abso-fucking-lutely brilliant kiss.

Charlie grinned. "Yeah, quite." He kissed him again, then again and again.

Harry was grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. Charlie smoothed his thumbs over Harry's face, just beneath his eyes. "No rush," he said again.

"Okay. Yeah."

—x—

Harry made very sure to walk different, entirely random ways every time he went to see Derek. Call him paranoid, but the last thing he wanted was yet someone-else's death on his hands. This time, though, he wasn't heading for Derek's office. And, yeah, that was more than a little bit scary, cause, well. Derek had invited him to his home. He'd given Harry his address, given instructions on how to get there, written down the code to the gate, and when to show up. All in all, it had gone rather smoothly.

Harry remembered hearing about how hard it was finding a place to live in London. And how ruddy expensive. Yeah, he imagined being a psychologist paid really well, but he couldn't help but wonder what Alec did. Because a flat in London? This big? What had Derek said, five bedrooms arranged over two levels?

Had to be _way_ more than just ruddy expensive. Like sell-your-soul-to-the-devil expensive.

Feeling a fair bit anxious, Harry reached out and rang the doorbell.

It felt like forever until Derek opened the door. "Harry!"

"Um, hi," Harry said. "It's, um. Big."

Derek broke out into a dazzling smile. "Alec inherited the place," he said, as if that was in some way _better_. "We have lived here for years. The children rather like it."

"Okay," Harry said. He followed Derek into a bloody _huge_ sitting room.

Derek turned to the man sitting down on the sofa. "Alec, this is Harry. Harry, Alec."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, tentatively shaking the man's outstretched hand.

"Likewise," Alec murmured, eyes cool and calculating. "You're that Potter kid the Ministry Official was talking about."

With a scowl, Harry nodded, and reflexively reached to tug his fringe down over his scar. Still, he wasn't all that sure he got why everyone was talking about him if they didn't like him any more. Wouldn't it be better to just forget about him? "I prefer Harry," said. He started when someone poked him in the back. A boy stood behind him, with green-sort-of-grey eyes.

"And this is Tom."

"I'm Harry."

Tom tilted his head to the side. "They say I'm going to be a wizard, you know."

"Yeah?"

The boy nodded. "Is it really true? Magic and all?"

"Didn't they take you to Diagon Alley?"

"Of course."

Harry laughed. "Then you've seen magic. I didn't want to leave, ever, the first time I was there."

Tom shrugged. "Come on," he said.

Bemused, Harry followed. Harry cast a look at Derek, but he was talking to Alec about something and didn't seem to notice.

"Dad's been talking _a lot_ about you." Tom showed Harry inside the kitchen. On the kitchen table were several books about magic, none of them on the list of required readings. At least, not that Harry could remember. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would've been like if he'd had someone like Derek when he first got his Hogwarts letter.

"Well, I've been talking a lot _with_ him."

"Mmmhmm." Tom nodded. Then, "You don't look like a wizard, Harry."

"It's because I grew up as a Muggle. But, you know, they don't like me very much at the moment in the Wizarding world. They think I'm mental," Harry said sombrely and Tom promptly burst out laughing. That probably had something to do with the fact that Harry was seeing Derek on a regular basis.

"So it is true," Alec said from the doorway, Derek was standing right behind him. Harry started; he hadn't heard the men approach. Alec looked to be a little older than Derek, with a few more crow's feet by his eyes, mouth a little more lined.

Harry gave a cautious nod, his eyes unreadable. Alec didn't give off the instant, friendly vibe that Derek did. Or Tom, for that matter. "Yeah. I—I'm sorry. I was going to ask if you…if you'd consider agreeing to having some magical protection put on your house. To keep you safe; I shouldn't have come to see you, Derek, I'm sorry—"

"It is not, and never will be, your fault, Harry. Neither of us could've predicted that Tom would be a wizard. If he had never been accepted to Hogwarts, I would never have known about you."

"But still," Harry insisted, almost desperately. He had issues, yeah, he knew that and Derek knew that, but some of them were so deeply ingrained he couldn't shake them.

"No, Harry. No 'buts'. It's not your fault." Harry bit his lip, but didn't argue.

"What kind of protection were you referring to?" Alec asked.

Harry knew the answer to that question, at least, so he began listing spells, "Fidelus Charm. maybe. Confuddlement. Wards. Protection. Notice-Me-Nots, those kinds of things. I've a friend who can help me, since I'm not of age yet. I'd feel much better if you did."

"Yes, Harry, but what are they?"

"Oh." Harry flushed.

—x—

Harry stared silently out the window of Derek's office. "Derek?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Remaining silent for a short while longer, Harry traced his chapped lips with a forefinger. "My Aunt hates me."

"I am aware."

"Do you know why?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek shake his head. "I don't really know why, either, but I think it's because Mum was a witch and she wasn't. I think she was so jealous of Mum, that Mum was a witch and she wasn't, that she started to hate everything that had to do with Mum and magic." Harry bit his lip. "Do Tom and Beka have the same parents? I mean, biologically?"

"Yes," and Derek sounded pained when he said it. Sad. "Alec's…Alec's sister passed away when Beka was a baby and Tom a toddler. None of us ever knew the father, but she insisted it was the same man who had fathered both of them."

Harry nodded and felt himself relax a little bit. "I'm glad. Beka could be a witch, you know. I'm not sure if you can test it or something, but, you know. There's a chance. Do you know the name of the father?"

Derek sat himself on the sofa next to Harry with a groan. "West. It's their and Alec's last name, and the kids' Mum's. She most often referred to her lover as her 'Lord Princeling'. He always brought her expensive gifts. She named him, once, but I can't remember the name…it was quite unusual." He held out a framed photo, and Harry accepted it with a nod. He gave a quick smile at Tom's stoic pose, spoiled by the pirate outfit and the wide grin. He wasn't smiling when he looked closer at Tom's sister, though. The small, fine boned, delicate girl with sharp silver eyes that were far, far too familiar.

"Malfoy?" he questioned, a little hesitant.

Derek stilled. "Yes, that might be it."

"Oh."

—x—

That night Harry locked himself — metaphorically speaking — inside the Black Family Library. He went over books of linage and genealogy until his eyes felt as if they were glued open with sand. Of course, Harry muttered curses under his breath, what he was looking for was found in the one book that reeked of Dark Magic and made Harry nauseous when he touched it for too long.

If he wasn't one hundred percent sure that the Malfoys would go after Derek and his family, he might have actually considered mocking Draco Malfoy for having a squib uncle. Cousin. Whatever.


	3. Chapter 3

Here's chapter three.

Enjoy.

* * *

—CHAPTER 3—

Harry hated that he was about to do this — really, he did, but asking Dumbledore about what to do about Derek's kids felt wrong and off. And he was a bit prejudiced against Slytherins. It was something Harry had come to realise over the summer, and it wasn't something he liked admitting, but that didn't make it less true. Then there was the fact that other than telling Harry about the Prophecy after Sirius died, Dumbledore had gone straight back to ignoring him again. It hurt a bit, but mostly annoyed him. He had more pressing thoughts and worries at the moment, though.

Harry sucked in a deep breath. Raising his hand, he knocked once and then waited. He didn't have to wait long before the door was yanked open, or for Snape to glare darkly down at him.

"Potter," he sneered. Harry cringed.

"Snape—"

" _No_."

"But, Snape—!" The door slammed closed just as Harry said, "Dammit, help me, Snape _,_ you're my only hope!" It wasn't until after he'd said it that he realised why it felt both familiar and _wrong_ to say that.

The door was opened again. Snape was smirking now instead, an eyebrow raised. "I suggest, _Princess_ Potter, that you use the Force, then."

Harry cleared his throat. He could feel himself flushing. "It came out wrong," he muttered.

"Somehow I very much doubt that, Potter," Snape drawled. The dangerous glint in his eyes stopped Harry from asking why – or bloody _how_ – Snape knew about something so Muggle as Star Wars.

"Um, yeah," Harry said lamely. "I was just going to ask about, um. I think that Lucius Malfoy had a brother or something, and that he was a squib, and that he had a Muggle girlfriend who had two kids with him." Harry said it very fast, almost tripping the words over his tongue in his rush to get them out.

Snape's eyes darkened. His gaze was fixed on something above and to the left of Harry's head.

Harry wet his lips. "I thought about asking the Headmaster, but I don't think he'd do the right thing."

"And you believe I will?" Snape murmured quietly.

"You're Slytherin," Harry said, "And the Headmaster's got rose-tinted glasses." Snape looked sharply at him. Harry squirmed but didn't say anything more about Dumbledore.

"Are you quite certain?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, no. But it feels like I am, and, well. There's just something about them that screams 'Malfoy'."

"Indeed." Snape raised an eyebrow, then wanted to know, "And just how did you happen upon these illegitimate Malfoys, Potter?"

"Well…" Harry hesitated, very sure he didn't want Snape to know that he was unhinged enough to need a psychologist. "I don't really know for sure, that they are. Not yet. But I've got some of their blood. Their dad gave it to me after I explained, 'cause I read about this potion, and—"

Snape's eyebrows arched. "Potter," he murmured warningly.

Harry blithely ignored it. Harry wasn't sure where Snape kept his wand, but suddenly Snape had it in his hand, tapping it almost nonchalantly against his hooked nose. Harry gulped. "That's, um. I mean… I, um. I needed someone to talk to?"

Snape appeared almost gleeful. "You went to a psychologist."

Harry started. "Yeah," he muttered. "Too much stuff in my head. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I dunno…it just… It all went really well until his son got a Hogwarts letter. Then, my fake ID wasn't that effective anymore."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You manufactured falsified identification papers?"

A bit confused, Harry shrugged. "Yeah, so? It's needed for everything in the Muggle world, you know, and I really didn't want him to know who I was. Or anyone to know I'd been to see him."

"Is that so."

Another shrug. "I used to do it all the time when I was a kid."

"I'm sure. Now, move."

"Snape—"

" _Move_!" Harry jumped out of the way. Snape smirked. "The potions laboratory is in the basement, is it not?"

—x—

Harry had mostly stood back while Snape prepared the potion. He didn't think he'd ever seen Snape brew potions before. Actually, he was pretty certain he'd never seen the man do it before. Harry would've remembered. Watching Snape brew made Harry, sort of, understand why he hated watching Harry, or Neville for that matter, botch up their potions. To Snape, it must look like they were torturing their potions, butchering ingredients left and right, whipping and beating the bubbling potions in their cauldrons instead of stirring.

So it wasn't that Snape followed the instructions to the letter – because he didn't, he substituted and changed and adapted the potion left, right and centre – or that he knew the instructions by heart – because he didn't, exactly; he read it through once carefully then more or less ignored what the instructions told him to do and replaced it with something that Harry suspected Snape made up as he went along – it was that Snape _was_ a Potions Master, and he made it look as simple as opening a book. But the potion in his cauldron ended up _exactly_ like the text in the book said it should look like. And Harry felt pretty bloody certain Snape hadn't followed a single bloody step of the instructions. And that was pretty fucking marvellous, Harry grudgingly admitted – but only to himself! But it was bloody annoying, too, because it showed just how hopeless and pathetic Harry truly was at potions. Harry wasn't sure if Snape had done it on purpose, but, well, he certainly wouldn't put it past the man.

Harry had added the drops of blood, Snape had done something with the potions – Harry wasn't sure he actually wanted to know where the man had got Lucius Malfoy's blood from – Harry wasn't sure what, and then they had waited. Well, Snape had waited. Harry had cleaned up after Snape.

"So if the potions turn purple they're related?" Harry wondered. Snape nodded.

Harry sighed. The potion was purple in both of the jars, one each for Derek's kids. "Both of them. You know, I was gonna ask Charlie to set up some wards and stuff on their house, but…"

"It will hardly suffice and be far from adequate. Are their looks recognisable?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I think so. I mean, once you get it into your head that they're related to Malfoy you can't stop seeing signs of it. But I don't really know what their biological father looked like, either. The girl, Beka, has got the silver eyes, I think, and she's rather pale, but she's got freckles and brown hair, I think." She had been wearing a blue wig on the photograph. Somewhere along the line of seeing Derek he'd picked up the habit of rambling. It was like, once he started talking, he couldn't stop until he'd said everything that was on his mind, relevant or not. "No pointy features. I'm guessing she looks like her mum, or…her father. And Tom, he's a blonde. Not like Malfoy, but still blonde. He's got grey-green eyes. Rather tanned. His nose kinda looks like Draco Malfoy's, but not really. Really wants to be a wizard." He looked up to see that Snape's black eyes were fastened on him with an uncomfortable intensity. Er…Snape?" Snape's eyebrows twitched. For some reason, it prompted Harry to add, "Professor."

"Potter, Potter," Snape drawled. He held out a vial of a black, glittering potion to Harry.

Harry gave Snape a startled glance before gingerly reaching out and taking hold of the vial. "What is it?"

Snape smirked. "If you intend to venture into Dark Arts, Potter, then try not to kill yourself," he drawled.

Harry blinked several times, his eyes going back and forth from Snape to the small vial. "…so the nausea—"

"Indeed. Drink it." When Harry hesitated, he added smoothly, "Of course, I am sure there are several who would be most interested in knowing why you chose to see a Muggle psychologist."

Harry almost choked in his haste to drink it all down, all under Snape's mocking, smug eyes.

—x—

"Um, Derek?"

Derek blinked, then looked away from Snape to give Harry a weak smile. "Yes, Harry?"

"This is one of the Professors at Hogwarts. Professor Snape. We…we have a problem. About the father."

Derek suddenly looked very tired. "I surmised as much. You looked very strange when you asked about the come in." He stepped back and held the door open for them. "Alec is in the kitchen, we can talk there."

Snape stared at Harry and Harry forced himself not to look away, but he didn't feel the tell-tale signs of someone probing his mind as he'd half expected. Then again, this was Snape. Harry'd never felt him probe his mind outside of those Occlumency lessons. Hadn't he gone over this with Derek? About breaking trust, and raping someone's mind? Harry shook the thoughts away. Instead, he forced himself to think about Alec, Derek and the kids, because he reckoned that was probably what Snape was curious about. It was just, when he'd told Snape about Derek and his family, Derek's sexual orientation hadn't exactly been first and foremost on his mind.

"Alec's his boyfriend," Harry muttered.

"I see. How wonderfully queer for you, Potter," Snape murmured as he pushed past Harry.

Harry scowled.

—x—

The wards had taken longer than Harry'd first thought to set up. Then again, he'd realised as he watched Snape ward the flat, and the building, that he hadn't had much of an idea how one went about warding something. Watching Snape do it had made it look easy. Snape had muttered Latin incantations for hours as he walked around, pointing and waving his wand in curious gestures and motions. He'd never lost the thread, or stumbled. He'd just done it. Like it was a two-piece jigsaw puzzle.

It made Harry want to be impressed of Snape, and that wasn't a feeling he was either comfortable or familiar with. Because Harry'd read up a bit on warding. He'd had to give up after a couple of pages, because it had all gone right over his head. So Harry knew it was bloody difficult and exhausting.

It didn't make any sense that Snape'd be sitting opposite of him, calmly eating his falafel or whatever it was, looking as if the most exhausting thing he'd done all day was get dressed.

"How much, exactly, have you told them?"

Snape's voice drew Harry back to the present. He shrugged. "Derek read a lot when he came in contact with the Wizarding World, so I guess he knows more about it than I do. He's really clever, you know. I wish I'd known someone like him when I got my Hogwarts letter." Harry told this mostly to the chips on his plate. Things like that came out much easier if he wasn't actually looking at Snape, or whoever else he might be talking to.

They were sitting outside, in a park eating takeaway. The whole business was surreal.

Having takeaway with _Snape_.

"Potter."

Harry looked up. Snape appeared to be amused, his demeanour relaxed. Harry'd never seen Snape act like a Muggle before, so he hadn't really got how much it suited the man. Snape was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, a leather jacket over that. He looked…relaxed. He didn't startle around cars and busses the way Charlie did. Snape really looked at home around Muggle in some weird way. It thoroughly trashed Harry's image of Snape. Rather, trashed it further. The last couple of days with Snape… Well, they'd been different.

"The prophecy?"

"Oh. No. I'm not an idiot, Snape. Yeah, he's my psychologist, but most of the time he just sits back, and expects me to do the talking. He doesn't really say all that much, you know? He just helps me work through my mind and lead myself to the right conclusions." Harry hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Sometimes I want to tell him about it," Harry confessed, toying with the chips on his plate. "It's like, when I tell him about what's wrong or when we try to work through my issues, everything stops being _my_ problem. It's like he carries the weight. I wish I could tell him about the prophecy."

Snape looked at him for a moment or two, then he said, "Eat your chips, Potter."

Harry sighed. "Yeah." But he could hear Derek inside his head, explaining to him about responsibility and consequences in a way no one had ever bothered to do before. For a while, he'd hated how much sense Derek made, but then, well.

Then he'd accepted it, and moved on. So it was with his heart in his throat that he cautiously ventured, "Professor Snape?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"I'm sorry. For looking in the Pensive. I'm sorry. I didn't know…better. I…Dumbledore let me watch his, he…left it out, too, and afterwards it was like he'd left it out 'cause he wanted me to look in it without him there. He didn't… No one ever taught me it was wrong. I'm sorry."

Snape's eyes were dark and cold. Harry'd no idea what was going through the man's head right then. His stomach was churning with nerves. He knew he'd done the right thing, he just wasn't sure if _Snape_ thought he'd done the right thing, or if he'd shout and curse at him.

After a long while, Snape finally said, "Very well."

For some reason, Harry felt weak with relief and almost giddy with happiness.

—x—

"Charlie?"

"Harry?"

Harry smiled. "Could you help me out? I need to shrink my trunk, and—"

"Sure."

Harry's heart beat a little faster.

"Great!" He headed back upstairs, Charlie in tow. "Why are you here so often? It feels like you're here more than I am."

Charlie chuckled. "Holiday. Couldn't take it all out at once, though, so it's spread out all summer. This is the last of it, really."

The door leading to his room was wide open, and Harry gave a heavy sigh, feeling the hard lump in his heart grow a little bit bigger again, as he walked in. His trunk was where he left it, but someone had tried to open it. He wasn't sure who did it, or why, or even when it'd started, but someone was going through – or trying to – his stuff what felt like every other day.

It hurt.

There wasn't anyone but him, Lupin, Snape, Hermione and some of the Weasleys who even stayed at Grimmauld Place this summer. Sure, the Order came and went, but they never really went anywhere except for the kitchen and the sitting room. He knew it wasn't either Snape or Lupin. He'd asked Lupin, and Snape had found him staring at his trunk with a shuttered expression on his face once. That time, his trunk had been upside-down and his belongings thrown across the room, as if whoever it was who'd done it had been looking for something, and then become angry when they couldn't find it. The doors to the wardrobe had been thrown open, his clothes scattered on the floor. Snape had, in that quiet voice of his that was _way_ more terrifying than his shout, told him to use a locking charm.

Charlie had helped him with that. So it wasn't Charlie. Charlie just wanted to have it off with him, not steal what little Harry actually owned.

"Thanks, Charlie, for the anti-theft spells," he said quietly. Nothing was missing, so it had obviously done the trick, but his trunk was now indigo instead of brown.

Charlie looked just as pained as Harry felt, and uncomfortable. "Harry—"

Harry waved him off. "Don't." Because if it wasn't Charlie, and it wasn't Snape or Lupin… There weren't all that many people left to choose from.

After Harry closed the trunk, all it took was a simple wave of Charlie's wand, and it shrank down to the size of a matchbox. His broom was bundled up in a cloth and Harry realised it would look strange for him to walk round with it, but it wasn't like he had a choice, because he wasn't about to mess with the magical properties on the broom just to shrink it because it was a bit ungainly.

"You're going back to school tomorrow, right?" Charlie asked, out of the blue. Harry could feel his eyes on his neck.

"Yeah." Harry frowned, bent over the bed to make sure the cloth _stayed_ on the broom, and didn't suddenly slip off, by tying it in place with strings.

"D'you want to go out with me tonight?" Charlie asked frankly. Harry felt his face heat up, even as he quirked a small smile over his shoulder. Grinning, Charlie appeared in front of him, seating himself next to Harry's fumbling hands on the bed. "Lovely. We'll go eat somewhere, I think."

"…sounds nice," Harry mumbled, pushing his broom out of the way and sat down next to Charlie. Charlie wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry smiled and shifted closer. "Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"How long after you figured you were, um, gay, did it take until, well. Until you felt comfortable with it?" It was the one question he'd never really asked Derek.

"At the time, it felt like forever. Looking back, it went in by a flash. A couple of months, I think. There wasn't really a rush, you know? It was just wank material."

"Oh, yeah." Harry laughed. "Definitely."

"Wank a lot, do we?"

Harry grinned cheekily. "What can I say, I'm sixteen."

"Yeah. Just figuring out what sex is altogether, aren't you?"

"Not so scary any more," Harry said.

Charlie kissed him. "Yeah, no rush."

—x—

Having not had anything specific in mind, they had taken a walk while they were looking for somewhere to eat. It was…very nice, Harry decided.

It was more than nice, really. Charlie smiled at him.

"What?" Harry wondered.

"Nothing." Charlie reached out and ran a hand through Harry's messy hair. "You hungry yet?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Why? Have you seen something you like, then?"

"Italian, I think," Charlie answered.

"Safe choice," Harry agreed. Charlie chuckled. "Pizza or pasta, now, that's a hard one," he joked. "Or lasagne… Oh."

"What?"

Harry patted his stomach. "Lasagne is _so_ good. Yeah, definitely Italian."

"I don't know, Harry," Charlie teased. "I think I want Japanese, instead. I've changed my mind."

Harry shook his head. "Uh-uh, can't do that. Once you've said—"

Charlie kissed him. Right there, in the middle of the street among all those Muggles. It wasn't a long kiss, or even a proper snog, just a quick peck. It still warmed Harry down to his toes. "Ever told you how bloody brilliant you are, mate?" Charlie asked as he grabbed Harry's hand.

Harry shrugged. "No. Never." He tightened the grip he had of Charlie's hand as he let himself be led towards the restaurant.

—x—

The food had been excellent, almost too delicious, really, as had the dessert. They'd walked back to Grimmauld – the long route rather than the short. Harry'd chosen it merely because he was feeling giddy and deliriously happy, and just a little because Charlie had taken hold of his hand in the middle of the park. The park had been just a few hundred metres or so away from the restaurant, so Harry had of course taken advantage of that almost immediately.

It was the first time since he was a kid he'd actually held someone's hand for longer than a few minutes. It wasn't as awkward as he remembered it to be, and the tingles down his spine were _very_ welcome this time round. And that was why they were taking the long way home, strolling leisurely rather than walking briskly.

Harry suspected Charlie had cast some kind of spell on them, because the Muggles didn't seem to notice them. It was a bit disconcerting at times, but also very pleasant.

"How 'bout we try out the tumblers I gave you?" Charlie'd asked when they could see Grimmauld Place in the distance.

"I thought you said I wasn't legal yet?"

Charlie grinned. "Yeah, I did. But I am."

"True," Harry agreed with a small smile. Some of the boys in Gryffindor had started drinking, yeah. Harry'd mostly stayed away from it because he was afraid what he'd do if he became drunk. But if it were just him and Charlie? "Maybe just a sip?"

What could possibly happen?

—x—

It turned out _a lot_ could possibly happen when you combined Harry Potter, Charlie Weasley and a bottle of whiskey. There had been an innocent game of cards that had not ended nearly as innocently. Well, not that they'd started playing strip poker or something like that, no. Just the ordinary kind. If there now was an 'ordinary kind' when Harry Potter was involved.

But whiskey, it turned out, made Harry rather impish.

"Harry," Charlie drawled.

"Yes?" Harry was proudly laying down his hand. Four nines, he had. A guaranteed win. He was feeling very pleased with himself. Especially because Charlie only had a full house. Harry smirked gleefully. The pile of toffees was his. _Success!_

"I have a full house."

"My hand is better." Harry was carefully unwrapping one of the toffees. "Mmmmm," he hummed, popping it in his mouth.

"Oh, really?"

Harry nodded.

"I have two nines here, Harry," Charlie pointed out. "How can you have four nines?"

Harry blinked. Charlie was tapping his own hand, where there were two nines, just like Charlie'd said. "Bugger."

"Finite Incantatem." Charlie pointed his wand at Harry's cards. Two of the nines shimmered, then transformed back into the two and three they'd been. "Cheating, are we?"

Harry shook his head. "No, no. M'just helping myself win better. Honest. I love toffees."

"Don't you know what they do to cheats, Harry?"

Harry's eyes were really wide. "M'not cheating!"

Charlie's grin was dangerous. "So you said."

When Charlie pounced, Harry didn't stand a chance. He did manage a rather embarrassing squeal, though, before Charlie tackled him to the ground.

"Cheats are stripped naked, Harry, coated in tar, then covered in feathers."

Harry shook his head. His glasses were threatening to slide off, so Charlie removed them entirely, setting the somewhere safe. "Didn't cheat." Harry's grin was playful. "Just made sure I'd win the toffees. They're _so_ good," he breathed.

"Hmmm," Charlie said. "So I just strip you naked, then?"

Harry giggled. "Why d'you want to do that?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"Ooooh!" Harry said. "I don't want that." He squirmed out from under Charlie and had almost made it to the door when Charlie caught up with him. Only this time Harry was prepared. He waved his wand, not really speaking an incantation or anything, but Charlie's hair still changed colour. His own did, too.

Blue.

Charlie laughed. With a flick of his own wand, their hair was restored. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders, turned him around, then pushed him down on the bed.

Harry landed with a bounce and started laughing. He was up on his knees, still bouncing, in a flash. He'd forgotten how much fun it could be to jump on beds. But then Charlie was there, on his knees too, and Charlie wasn't as interested in bouncing on the bed as Harry. Well, not that kind of bouncing, anyway. Charlie hugged Harry close and kissed him.

"Mmmm," Harry agreed. Kissing was rather nice. "Can we play more cards if I promise not to cheat?"

"We can play for kisses."

"I like kisses."

"So do I." After a longer, more intense kiss, Charlie added, "Why don't we just skip the cards completely, mate?"

Harry cocked his head to the side. He had rather liked the game of cards, to tell the truth. Of course, he rather liked kissing Charlie, too.

"Obviously, if you have to think about it, I'm not doing it right," Charlie declared.

"Paper, scissor, stone! C'mon." Harry shifted back and stretched out his hand. Bemused, Charlie did the same. "Okay? One, two three!"

Charlie did stone.

Harry crowed. "I win!" He wrapped his 'paper' round Charlie's 'stone'. "Ha!"

"And what did you win?"

Harry smirked, looking very pleased with himself. " _I_ won, so _I_ decide. And I decide that you should take your T-shirt off." He nodded, gesticulating with his hands that Charlie should get on with it.

With a roll of his eyes, Charlie tugged his T-shirt off. His head almost stuck in the opening, which his hair suffered for. Harry, though, seemed more interested in something a little bit south of Charlie's head.

"You're, like, a total hunk," Harry murmured. He'd noticed that Charlie was rather broad in the shoulder department, of course he had. He'd just not translated that into muscles. Which Charlie had plenty of. His chest was really broad. "You've got more hair than me," Harry lamented. "I've just got one."

"One hair?" Harry nodded. "Why don't you show me?" Charlie leered. Harry was on to him at once.

"Aha! You're trying to cheat now, Charlie! Don't think I don't notice." Harry tapped the side of his nose.

"'Course not," Charlie agreed. He reached out with one hand, cupped Harry's chin and pulled him in for a kiss. "Again?"

Harry nodded. "One, two, three."

This time Harry did scissors, but Charlie did stone again. "Ooops," Harry said.

Charlie smoothed his hands down Harry's stomach. Harry's breath hitched, and suddenly it felt like something in his stomach, but lower, was on fire. "Off with this, I believe," Charlie whispered in his ear and began pulling Harry's T-shirt up.

Harry's breath hitched. "M'kay," he agreed. He helped Charlie get it off, then reached for Charlie. Harry ran his hands through Charlie's wild hair, tucking the longer fringe behind Charlie's ears. "You've got freckles on your ears," Harry whispered.

"I've got freckles everywhere, it feels like."

"Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I want to play any more." Charlie's hands were still stroking Harry's chest. One of them found Harry's single chest hair and gave a little tug. Harry laughed. "Don't pull it out. S'the only one I've got. Not like you…" Harry move one hand down to Charlie's chest, letting his fingers run through the auburn curls.

"Hmmm," Charlie agreed. "So what shall we do instead?"

Harry pretended to think. "Snog?"

Charlie grinned. "Not a bad idea, now that you mention it."

"I know. S'brill, innit?" Harry tugged on Charlie's head, just enough so that Charlie's mouth was within reach.

—x—

If Harry was a bit paler than usual, and rather peaky, when he showed up on their doorstep, Derek chose not to comment on the fact and Harry felt immensely grateful.

"G'morning," he muttered.

"Good morning, Harry. Why don't you come inside?" Nodding sleepily, Harry followed Derek inside and only then slipped off the sunglasses Charlie had been… _kind_ enough to conjure for him to replace them with his usual pair. He made a beeline for the sofa in Derek's sitting room. It was very comfy, soft and bloody wonderful. He made himself very much at home on it.

Harry heard Derek laugh. "Oh, Harry," he said.

"Tired," Harry mumbled. "Early."

It was only a little after half past seven, he knew that much because Charlie'd had to get up early. Something about Order business. Harry who had been having the most wonderful sleep in his life had been woken by a very vindictive Charlie. "If I've to be up, then so do you," Charlie'd told him.

"Charlie's mean to me," he complained to Derek, who only laughed at him again. Moments later, Harry felt a blanket being spread out over him. Harry burrowed deeper into the sofa, snuggling contently with the blanket.

—x—

Harry was woken almost exactly two hours later by Derek. "Hey, sleepy," Derek murmured at him.

"'Lo," Harry mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. Derek made sure he was sitting up properly, then handed him a cuppa and a toast with honey.

"Tom has been very…ecstatic, this morning," Derek told him while Harry ate his breakfast. It wasn't much, but, well. He _was_ hung-over. The almost plain toast and the chamomile tea was just enough, in his opinion.

Harry grinned crookedly. "Yeah, I was right ecstatic, too. My…relatives too, come to think of it. Not, you know, that I was going away to be a wizard. Just that I was…going away. Far away." Harry'd always secretly believed that the Dursleys had been more than a little disappointed that Harry'd actually survived the entire year. "They never cared."

"We care." Derek was sitting very still, his blue eyes uncharacteristically dull. "Our son is going away for an entire _term_ into a magical world we can't follow him into. How are we supposed to feel?"

Harry couldn't answer that, so he just shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, I get that it's hard, of course I do, but…I can't relate, y'know? Anyway, it's why I'm never having kids."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I was firmly convinced I didn't want children until about month after Beka and Tom had moved in, Harry. I don't think Alec was more keen on the idea than I was, but if you have the chance, Harry, don't miss it."

Harry shrugged. "It's just not something I've ever thought about, you know?"

"I know." Derek nudged his still hands. "Now, drink your tea, then we have to go.

Supressing a sigh, Harry did as he was told.

"Hi Harry!" Tom chirped in his ear, having come up behind him. 'Overexcited' just didn't cover it.

Harry winced. "Hullo, Tom. You ready?"

Tom gave a slow nod. "Yes, Harry. Dad, when are we going?"

—x—

"I take it there is a secret door, somewhere?"

Harry shook his head. "Um, no, Derek. It's actually a wall you can walk through. Right over there, see?" Harry pointed at the pillar between platforms nine and ten. Derek and Alec both nodded, Alec looking very sceptical. "Well, that's platform 9¾. You just walk through it. It's some kind of illusion, I think."

"So there really is no wall." Harry nodded. Alec pursed his lips. "I see. Very…Zelda."

Derek let out a soft laugh. "If you cannot bomb it, simply pass through it?"

Alec nodded, tiny smirk on his face.

Harry shook his head, a frown on his face. Derek had made him watch Star Wars, but Zelda? He wasn't really sure he knew what that was.

"Let's go then," Derek declared. "Alec, you take Tom and I'll go with Harry," he said. Alec met Derek's gaze and nodded, then he grabbed Tom's hand and walked, rather briskly for a Muggle and first-timer, straight ahead and through the wall. Derek shuddered.

Harry smiled and pushed the cart with Tom's trunk ahead, then reached out and grabbed Derek's arm. "I'm not sure if it's protected against tripping Muggles, so don't let go, or you'll be stuck out here."

When they came through, Tom was grinning brightly at him. "That was so cool, Harry!"

Harry merely smiled. "Wait until you see Hogwarts."

"You will look out for him." It wasn't exactly a question, more a request. So Harry nodded. It made both Derek and Alec relax somewhat.

The goodbye that followed wasn't exactly tearful, but it still left Harry aching and, for the first time in all his years, sad to go. Tom hugged his parents for the longest time before finally latching on to Harry's arm like a limpet. The boy didn't even let go when Harry received his own, much shorter, hug from Derek.

Harry bit hi lip "Who'll deal with me now, Derek?"

Derek's smile was strained. It was the first time Harry'd seen any type of affection between the men; Derek and Alec had each other's hands in an iron grip. "Write. In a journal. Or letters to me. I have learned that I am no more than an 'Owl' away."

That made Harry nod, and with a shy smile said, "Look out for a big white one, then. Her name's Hedwig."

"You have an _owl_?" Tom burst out.

"Oh, yes. The prettiest one you'll ever see. She's at Hogwarts already."

Tom smiled, then he looked distressed again. "Don't forget to say bye to Beka for me, right?"

"We won't," Alec promised.

Then they had to leave, as the final bell went off to warn of the train's departure.

—x—

Tom appeared somewhat awkward, his eyes misty and with a forlorn expression on his face. Harry sat down next to him and wrapped an arm round the boy's shoulder, feeling very awkward and out of place himself. "Once you get to Hogwarts, Tom, you'll be too busy with school and learning magic to be sad. Of course, you'll still miss your family, I'm sure, but it'll get easier."

"…but what if I get scared, Harry? What if I have a nightmare, and—"

"I'll look out for you, all right?" Harry gently squeezed Tom's shoulder. "No matter what House you end up in, I promise I'll always help you, okay? You can come to me, no matter what."

"…even if I'm Slytherin?" Tom wanted to know, just a hint of worry on his face.

"Yes, Tom, even Slytherin."

Tom nodded a little. "It's just…my Dad, Alec, he'd have been in Slytherin, definitely. Dad said so."

"And Derek? Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw?"

Tom giggled, but soon they were discussing what House Derek would've been sorted into.

—x—

Sitting alone and cut off from the rest of the Gryffindors, Harry watched attentively as Tom nervously walked up to the Hat. He had barely sat down and put it on when the Hat cried out, "SLYTHERIN," and Harry was hardly surprised.

It'd been Malfoy who'd said so years ago, after all. _'Malfoys always end up in Slytherin.'_

He didn't see why he'd expected that to change. Yeah, Tom was a sweet and shy boy, but between Derek and Alec, Harry'd no doubt that there was more to Tom than met the eye.

And Tom was a Malfoy.

* * *

 **U** ntil next time.


	4. Chapter 4

Someone asked about Ron and Hermione. There is a perfectly logical reason for their absence. It's going to take a few chapters to get there, though. Let me just say there will be no bashing, of any kind, whatsoever.

Also, for those of you who worry about that sort of thing: No, Malfoy won't come in and magically become best friends with Harry. Absolutely not. It's a question of class: Malfoy is a proper upperclass prick. Harry is no where near upperclass. Malfoy will make an appearance every now and then, but that's it.

* * *

—CHAPTER 3—

That night, only Neville had really talked to him. Most everyone else was ignoring him, if he was lucky. He really fucking hated it when people just stared. He just… Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again and stared resolutely at the canopy above his bed. He just hadn't expected Ron and Hermione to look the other way, too. Still. He'd hoped, right up until just a couple of hours ago that they'd only made the most of the summer together, but tonight…

They wouldn't even look him in the eye. It looked like they barely even recognised him, the way their gazes slid over him so effortlessly as if he was made of air. It hurt. _Fuck, it hurt so much!_

He'd lain awake in bed far too long, his mind racing. When left alone for too long, Harry had a tendency to let his thoughts run wild. He'd always been like that, and he'd sort of always known about it, too. Ever since Hogwarts, though, he'd always had friends who helped him balance himself, kept him stabile. He wasn't sure if they'd known as much, Ron and Hermione, but that didn't make it less true. Over the summer, he'd had both Derek and Charlie. Harry felt a sharp pang inside. Right now, he had no one.

Right now, he wasn't sure he even wanted Charlie to be around, either. The whole day, he'd made sure to keep himself busy in the annual rush to Hogwarts. Very, very busy, just so that he wouldn't have to think. But right then, he was alone in bed without anything or anyone there to distract him.

Charlie hadn't kissed him, this morning. There hadn't been any hugs, either. Just a casual, almost aloof, playfulness. At the time, Harry'd been too tired and hungover, but he wasn't feeling that way right now, was he? Charlie had been distant, hadn't he?

 _Here, I'll apparate you to your friend's, then I have to go_. But Charlie hadn't exactly looked at him when he'd said it.

Charlie hadn't looked him in the eye even once.

Harry squirmed. His body was itching. Well, not itching, exactly, but his body felt...weird. The shadow touch of Charlie's hands was still there, he realised, and it made him feel very strange. Not good, exactly, but out of sorts. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Charlie leaning down over him.

Harry's eyes shot open every time it happened.

His stomach was unsettled with a vaguely sick feeling.

Charlie'd known that Harry wasn't feeling anywhere near comfortable about sex, so why had he tried so hard to get Harry naked the night before?

It was a long time before Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.

—x—

The second day at Hogwarts that year was a Sunday. Harry was just about to exit the Great Hall when someone called out his name.

"Harry! Harry, wait!" Harry stopped and looked round.

Tom was hurrying to catch up with him, hair windswept and cheeks red. "Hi." He suddenly looked very shy.

"Hullo, Tom." Harry, somehow, made himself smile. "How're you settling in?"

Tom shrugged, and while the smile on the boy's face faltered a bit, the happiness didn't go away. "Great! Some of the boys in my dorm are very nice, others are not." Grabbing Harry's hand, he pulled him along, talking all the way, "There's a half-blood in my dorm, Mika, and we talked a bit last night—" Why wasn't he surprised that the Slytherins had sorted out bloodlines before going to bed the night before? – "The other two don't look like they like us very much. The girls are all right, I suppose, but I haven't really talked to them yet." Harry wasn't really conscious about where Tom was dragging him, right until he looked up and took in what his eyes were showing him properly. He found himself sat at the end of the Slytherin table, Tom smiling next to him and another boy staring at him with narrowed eyes from across the table. "That's Mika," Tom pointed out, still smiling.

"Tom—" Harry started.

"You said you wouldn't care." And how much hurt and broken trust could there be in a single sentence?

Harry bit his lip. "Tom, I wasn't lying. I promise. It's just…I'm not a Slytherin. I can't sit here."

"Yes, you can." Tom narrowed his eyes. "All the others do it."

"They aren't me," Harry somehow made himself say.

Tom's eyes were hard. "Harry," he said in a harsh whisper, "your own House don't like you."

Harry flinched. "Tom—"

"What do you think you are doing, Potter?" someone hissed in his ear. Harry startled, and rather badly at that.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. Malfoy glared at him, eyes hard like stone. "I…was just talking to my friend here, Tom, about why I shouldn't be sitting at this table, but it's not going so well…" There was no fire in his tone, not a hint of the dislike or loathing that was usually there whenever he talked with Malfoy. For the first time since he was eleven, he wished he was somewhere else.

Even when he was twelve and everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, he'd had Ron and Hermione. When he was fourteen, and Crouch Jr. had put his name in the Goblet of Fire, he'd had Hermione, and Ron once he came round. But now…now he didn't have anyone.

And he didn't have the foggiest idea why. There was a lump of lead in his stomach, in his heart. His hands were trembling.

"I promised Tom I'd still be his friend, no matter where he was sorted," Harry heard himself say.

"You promised," Malfoy said, deadpan. He sounded utterly disgusted.

"He did," Tom said. Malfoy barely glanced at the boy.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I just didn't promise to sit at the Slytherin table with him. It's probably not a great idea for me to be here, I—"

"Harry, they don't want you," Tom pointed out again, only this time Malfoy was there and heard it, too. Harry watched as he took it in, and then looked round.

"Self-delusion, Tom. Didn't Derek ever talk about that?" Harry muttered.

Tom smiled a little. "It's not good for you, Dad always says."

"Keeps me sane."

"So why were you talking to Dad, then?" Tom innocently wondered, at the same time as Malfoy responded, "Indeed, Potter?"

"Yeah, Malfoy. Indeed."

"So, Harry," Tom spoke up again, "I wanted to send a letter home."

With a sigh, Harry reached for a piece of toast and slowly buttered it. The way everyone ignored him at his own table had driven away what little appetite he actually had. "Then hurry before I get a detention. Or get cursed," he muttered to himself. Tom sniggered at him.

"Can you teach me how to fly?" Tom asked later as Harry was buttering another toast, this time adding cheese to it as well.

"Madame Hooch does that."

"Are you not still banned, then?" Malfoy intervened, voice dangerous, "From ever flying on a broom again?"

"S'just for playing Quidditch, I think…"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, elegantly resting his chin on an upturned palm. "I must confess, Potter." Harry turned a curious eye in his direction. "I am having difficulties reasoning as to why you are now an outsider in your…House."

Harry put down his toast, biting his lip. Tom was looking at him with his large, curious eyes. Harry quickly looked away, preferring Malfoy's calculating ones over the blatant innocence. "D'you want the truth?" Harry wondered.

Baffled, Malfoy nodded. " _You_ would give the _truth_ to _me_?" he sneered.

Harry hesitated. "S',not that," he mumbled, "S'just that I don't know what I did."

Malfoy looked at him, then twisted to look out over the hall, only to finally look back at Harry.

"I thought maybe it was because the Prophet ran that story about me being a Parselmouth, but that was before term ended, and…they were still speaking to me, then."

"What's a Parselmouth?" Tom promptly asked.

"Someone who can talk to snakes."

"Neat."

Harry smiled. "It comes in handy," he admitted. Especially during the long, late summer nights where he had been left outside by himself when he was little. Having small snake-friends had seemed like a blessing, then. Then there was always the time when he had accidentally set that large Brazilian loose after Dudley… _that_ had been bloody marvellous. Even the basilisk had hesitated slightly, before attacking anyway as Tom Riddle overrode Harry's pleas.

"Why do you have an owl if you can talk to snakes?"

"Hedwig was a gift, and snakes aren't allowed at Hogwarts. Besides, there're not an awful lot of people who can talk to them."

"Some of my ancestors had the ability," Malfoy boasted.

For a moment, Harry felt insanely jealous. It showed on his face, he knew, because the next thing Malfoy said was, "Surely, you can't be jealous of me, Potter. You know what my father is."

Harry wasn't sure what that statement was supposed to imply. That Harry would do well to stay far away from Slytherins? Well, Harry knew that much himself already. Or did Malfoy mean it as a threat? A way of reminding Harry that he really had no business hanging around the Slytherin table, eating toast. Or maybe Harry was just too deprived on proper sleep and food, and reading too much into it.

"I don't know anything about my family," Harry ended up saying rather quietly. He turned to Tom. "Are you done?"

Tom shook his head. The bowl of sweetened porridge was still not defeated.

"Father says that you are crazy." Mika suddenly spoke up from the other side of the table.

Harry managed a grin. "'Course, I am. Who wouldn't be, if they had deal with half of everything I put up with?"

Mika looked a fair bit sceptical. "Okay," he said and shrugged, then went back to his toast.

"Potter."

"What?"

Malfoy's hand closed round his shoulder and squeezed tightly. "Meet me after dinner."

"Here?"

"Entry Hall," he decided.

"Why?"

Malfoy glared, then smiled coolly. "Because I didn't poison your toast."

What little that had remained of Harry's appetite promptly fled right then.

—x—

Leaning on the windowsill, elbows and underarms flat against the cold stone, Harry stared with a yearning longing at the flying figures over the Quidditch pitch. Their gold and red robes were very bright. It was only the second day of term, but it looked like the Gryffindor Quidditch team was already back in business. It hurt, really hurt, that he hadn't even been asked to join, even if he was only allowed to be an advisor or assistant coach or something. He was the best Seeker Gryffindor'd had since Charlie Weasley; Oliver Wood had said as much. Even Fred and George had. It made him angry, too, that no one had seen it fit to ask him. Yeah, he got that most of everyone, for some reason, suddenly didn't like him again, but what did that have to do with Quidditch? He was fucking good at it!

Someone moved in to stand next to him. Harry tensed a little, then saw the blonde hair and the Slytherin tie out of the corner of his eye. He sighed. "You know," he murmured, "I've done things before that weren't exactly acceptable for a Gryffindor. The worst of it, I think, must've been the Parseltongue, and the TriWizard fiasco. Not sure if that's something that was actually my fault, but… S'just, this time round…I really have no idea. I mean, yeah, I—" Harry paused. The latest catastrophically 'adventure', was the whole debacle at the Department of Mysteries. Losing Sirius. Harry swallowed to dislodge the lump in his throat. Did Malfoy know about that? Harry couldn't remember.

"D'your father tell you about the Ministry?"

"Before or after you sent him to Azkaban?"

Harry looked away. "Oh." He had almost forgotten about that. It was just easier, hurt less, if he blocked everything that had happened that night out. Of course, Derek'd advised him not to do that, but…

"I…I went there 'cause I thought my godfather was in danger, you know. I was prepared to go alone, cause, well. I just was. So when I was about to go to the Department of Mysteries, alone, my friends all went mad and they almost clubbed me just 'cause I'd even considered going alone. Even after, when everything was a pile of mess, we were still talking. But now…now they won't even look at me." Well, Ginny had tried to ground him in the beginning of the summer, but after a while she'd just sent Charlie to check up on him instead, and then after a while she'd sort of forgotten about it. That much, he felt safe to say. He figured, being the son of a Death Eater, Malfoy most likely knew that, and more, anyway.

"You truly don't know, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. The cold, haughty tone of Malfoy's voice turned his stomach.

Harry shook his head, clenched his hands into tight fists. "Spoke to another snake? Released a basilisk? Got signed up to a death quest by a Death Eater in disguise? Had visions of Voldemort? Thought myself to _be_ Voldemort? His snake? Sod it, if I know…"

"Well, then, Potter," Malfoy said loftily as he moved to copy Harry's stance. "There was an article published early on this summer. It described in great detail the—"

"—how I grew up just like Voldemort did?" Harry took a little dark pleasure out of seeing Malfoy flinch again at the mention of that name. "God, and people buy into that trash?" He'd read the article. Snape had been there, he was rather sure of that, because he dimly remembered that Snape had scoffed at it.

"You look remarkably alike," Malfoy argued nastily. "The hair, the eyes, the…scrawniness. You and…Riddle."

Ah. So Malfoy was talking to him because he was confused about how Voldemort and Riddle could possibly be the same person. Harry's grin was just a little twisted. "Hard to get the picture of Voldemort to merge with a half-blood, is it?"

"Shut up, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he muttered.

"Although I believe it was a pathetic attempt to make the Dark Lord more human, it instead served to mark you as a Dark Lord in the making," Malfoy summarised, neatly pushing any other implication to the side.

"Ain't that sweet," Harry muttered.

They stood in silence for several minutes before Malfoy spoke again. "What can you tell me of Tom West?"

Harry started. Tom? Why was Malfoy interested in a first year? "Not much," he said after a while, a touch on the side of caution. "He's got a younger sister. You can expect her in a year or two, though I think she might end up in Ravenclaw."

"Not a Muggleborn, then?"

Harry blinked, then forced himself to shrug. Of course Mafoy'd know you couldn't test Muggleborns for magic the way you could test if wizards were squibs. "Don't know, really. Didn't ask." _Fucking wank_. Why'd he even opened his mouth? Thanks to – or because of? Harry wondered – Derek, Harry was sprouting stuff he really had no business saying right, left and centre. "They've got the same biological parents. He's adopted. And, well, I was the only wizard round, really, so I told him about the Wizarding world. Don't imagine I got it all that accurately, though. Never really took an interest in history round here. It's so different from how Muggles write history, I don't know. I just never liked it. D'you think the Avada Kedavra was originally invented by Healers?" Oh, yes, no doubt about it. Harry was becoming a master at the art of babbling.

"Possibly," Malfoy replied, clearly rather startled. "And West still ended up in Slytherin, despite you being the teacher, as it were?"

Harry grinned and turned to face Malfoy. "Shocking, innit? I gave him Muggle parallels and he just said that as long as I kept talking to him, he'd be fine. Who's Mika?"

"Donovan."

"Death Eater kid?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Distant cousin, I think."

Harry doubted very much that Malfoy didn't know the lineages of every Slytherin in the school, going back at least five generations or something. Probably why, come to think about it, he'd asked about Tom.

—x—

Monday night, Harry was in the library, trying to read his potions text because he had a _really_ strong feeling Snape would call on him as much and as often as he possibly could, if only to have an opportunity to throw him out. How he had passed his OWLs was still a complete mystery, _especially_ to Harry. It wasn't going as horribly as he'd thought; somehow it was easier to study when Hermione wasn't urging him to do it and Ron wasn't there to moan about how bloody useless and sodding boring it was. Everything blurred together after a while, but Harry kept on reading. He had a feeling that if he didn't give up, sooner or later it _would_ start making sense. It had to. It just had to! So, after a while, when he couldn't really keep the details apart in his mind any more, he began to cautiously write down notes in the margins of his potions book, and underline words. He'd never done that before, but he found it was right helpful. And, just to be even more stubborn, he used a biro he'd nicked off someone during the summer. It was much neater that way. And way easier to boot, too.

"What are you doing, Harry?"

"Hmmm?" Harry dragged the end of his biro across his lips, eyes narrowed. Then he looked up at Tom.

"Can I sit here?" the boy wanted to know.

"Sure…" Harry nodded. He went back to his potions text, quickly becoming engrossed in it again. He started rather badly because of that when a blonde head appeared between him and the book. "Tom?"

"I have potions, too, tomorrow, but mine doesn't look nearly as complicated. Is it difficult?"

Harry pursed his lips, then rolled his very hard shoulders. He was sore and stiff; he'd never really sat up and studied like this before. "Well," he began, "It depends, really. You have to be calm, precise, be able to take your time without taking too long. Follow the instructions, study a lot and not upset Snape, I suppose." Harry paused. "That's Professor Snape. It's been a while, but I think it's probably a bit like…chemistry? But _a lot_ more dangerous."

Tom grinned. "I made bombs!"

Harry laughed, then ruffled Tom's hair. He promptly ignored the disgruntled look he got in return, of course. "Don't blow up _anything_ in the dungeons. Professor Snape gets _real fucking_ cross." And _that_ was the lamest understatement of the year.

—x—

"—so tell me, Potter, what wouldyou use to stabilise a potion with in order to successfully obtain the necessary properties of the ingredients, which, because of their inherent instability will effectively cause the potion to erupt in your face?" Snape fixed him with a malicious look. Harry gulped. Sometimes, the questions just went right over his head.

"All potions or just that one, sir?" Harry stalled.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "They all share this trait. Which you would know, had you bothered to do the assigned reading."

He'd read that, really? Harry frowned, thinking as fast as he could. He remembered that part, vaguely. Then again, he remembered all of the potions, vaguely. That was a huge flaw, he realised, 'cause, yeah, he remembered most of what he'd read, but it was one big mess, all of it. The whole blowing-up-potions stuff, he believed, had had something or other to do with, um. Some sort of skin, maybe? He wasn't really sure, though, but something in him wanted, for some obscure reason, say 'Boomslang skin'. He just had no clue why. Still, that could be it. He hoped it was.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape prompted.

 _Shit_. Harry froze. "Oh, um. Is it the, the Boomslang skin?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Is that a question, Potter?"

"No, sir."

Snape almost smirked. "Perhaps you should have made it one. Boomslang skin soaked in an infusion of lavender and chamomile extract would, instead of blowing your immediate surroundings up, negate the explosive tendencies. Five points from Gryffindor."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Gryffindors turn to glare at him. Not that there were many in this class, but still. Hermione was one of them. She'd never berated him for forgetting part of the correct answer. Not with a glare at least. Just admonished him to do his homework more carefully.

Harry told himself he'd take even more notes, and write even more in his book. It had helped, after all, if only a little.

He'd read a thesaurus, too, just to understand the bleeding questions Snape asked.

—x—

He'd been at school for two weeks when he realised that the person who'd gone through his trunk at Grimmauld Place, was also someone who had access to Gryffindor Tower. It hurt real bad, because…because…

Because it meant it had to be a Weasley.

And that hurt so much. It made it difficult to sleep at night, because the hurt gnawed in his stomach and stabbed at his heart, and it made it impossible to eat because he was never really hungry, just…faintly ill.

Everything Harry owned, every little possession he had to his name was in his trunk. His dorm mates knew that, Harry knew they knew that, which made it hurt all that more deeply again.

Everything he had in this world was in that trunk.

—x—

'It'll be fun,' Tom had said. 'We need an older student to supervise,' Tom had said.

Harry had sort of grimaced, sort of smiled, and agreed. He'd reasoned at the time that he needed something else besides homework to do. Turned out, _homework_ wasn't nearly enough to keep him from thinking, or remembering.

He regretted it now, staring in dismay at the mess that had been Tom's potion. "What did you do?"

"Heating potion?"

"Heating potion?" Harry repeated. He shook his head, then grabbed Tom's potion book and scanned through the instructions. Fucking bag of wank, he thought, but he couldn't remember most of the potions he'd done last year much less first year.

The jar of Bluenecked beetle-eyes stood out as a likely suspect on the table next to the hissing cauldron. They weren't in the instructions. "You don't have those in a _Heating potion_ , Tom!" Harry told Tom.

The guilty look on Tom's face said he already knew that.

"Tom," Harry moaned in dismay. "Didn't we have this discussion? You have to follow the directions; they're important. You can't just add something extra just to see what happens. This isn't Muggle experimental chemistry in science class, you know. Someone could get hurt, here, seriously hurt."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just…"

"What?"

"Sometimes I can't believe this is real," the boy whispered. "I just need to…know, you know?"

Harry nodded, heart heavy. "Yeah, I know, Tom. Now let's just clean up, okay? Do you know how to use _Scourgify_?"

"No."

"Okay," Harry said, "Like this." He waved his wand, without speaking the incantation. Tom frowned, and then tried to copy Harry's wand motions. "No," Harry said and moved to stand directly next to Tom, "like this…" and waved his wand again.

"Let's just play a game next time, okay? Like, Scrabble or something…" Harry suggested as they made their way out of the classroom. Tom sniggered.

—x—

Harry wasn't sure he knew when it'd started. First it had only been him and Tom, and they'd mostly just done their homework. Sometimes – but not very often because things tended to explode around Tom and then Snape'd notice and, well – he'd helped Tom make a potion or two. Rather often he'd helped Tom with his homework. They'd played board games, too. Mostly Muggle ones, because Derek and Alec had sent a few along with Tom. Harry had even taught Tom a bit about Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was just that sometime, during all that, Mika had started to tag along, and then Mika's friend Lucia, then her friend, then her friend's sister, then the sister's cousin and the cousin's friend, and on and on until there was regularly fifteen or so lower class Slytherins all clamouring for attention, help and a spot of fun.

It was right pathetic, he mused one night, that the only real proper company he had these days was with a bunch of kids a couple of years younger than himself.

The older the friends the Slytherins brought, the more hesitant and reluctant they were to step inside the abandoned classroom in the dungeons – not that it looked abandoned any longer; it was rather homely by now, littered with comfy cushions, desks, chairs and sofas. The new kids all looked as if they expected Harry to toss them out on their ear. He didn't, of course, he just smiled and greeted them, because what else could he do? At first he hadn't been sure if it was better that he simply went back to whatever it was that he'd been doing, or that he ought to go over and greet them. In the end, he'd simply shown them where their year mates were, and then gone back to his own homework. It'd take a few meetings, but eventually they'd warm up to him enough that they could talk. Maybe even play a couple of games, and then they'd realise, somewhere along the way, that Harry wasn't about to dismiss them, and they'd smile, open up a little, and shine as they allowed themselves to be happy.

It was starting to become something of a habit. There were always scheduled nights at least three days in advance. Everyone always knew that Harry'd be in the classroom on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sundays.

It was starting to worry him.

—x—

"Evening, Potter."

"Hiya, Malfoy."

Harry was stretched out on the grass, leaning back against the trunk of a tree on the east side of the lake. Malfoy must've seen him come out and followed him, because the tree was barely visible from the school, so he knew he couldn't possibly be. They hadn't spoken since the second day of term. Harry half-heartedly began to unwrap the parcel in his lap. Sandwiches he'd asked Dobby to bring him. He'd only asked for one, but, well. Dobby was like that. Harry sighed.

"Gives me four when I wanted just one. D'you want some?" he asked Malfoy

Malfoy sneered, gingerly sitting down next to Harry. "What are they?"

"Hope it's chicken, 'cause I can't stand the thought of ham right now."

"Hmm," Malfoy hummed as he reached for one.

"You're welcome," Harry drawled before picking a sandwich up himself. He doubted he'd manage to eat it all.

"West's integrated you quite a bit among the lower years," Malfoy said after a while.

"Noticed that, too," Harry admitted. "You know, Tom wanted me to supervise him when he did potions."

"Merlin forbid!" Malfoy actually shuddered.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I'm not exactly brilliant, I know."

"So?" Malfoy asked, rather pointedly.

"So, what? Why d'you even want to know?"

Malfoy sneered. "Because I am a prefect, and it is my job to make sure my House mates aren't abused, misused or persuaded to become Gryffindorks."

Harry sighed again. "Mostly, we just do our homework. Sometimes we play Muggle board games, occasionally, I teach them a few spells."

"How disgusting."

"Innit, though?"

Malfoy just rolled his eyes. He reached for another sandwich, having already finished his first.

Harry was still struggling with his. He'd barely eaten half of it, and already his stomach was protesting that it really couldn't hold more food.

"The kids, they know no one really likes me at the moment, right?" Harry asked with a quiet voice.

"Yes. You do know that situation is not likely to change if you continue to stay in the dungeons after class?"

"I suppose I could always take them to the Room of Requirement, instead." Harry grinned brightly and winked when Malfoy favoured him with a highly and thoroughly unimpressed glare. It was just that he really didn't have anywhere else to go, or to take the Slytherins. The past week he'd taken to sleeping in the Room of Requirement, because someone in his dorm had taken to hexing and cursing his bed. His tendencies towards babbling aside, it was really information that Malfoy didn't need to have. Yeah, he'd been halfway decent this term, but Malfoy was a Slytherin. Maybe he was only doing it because it'd get him close to Harry?

Harry took another small bite of his sandwich. He hadn't been very hungry, lately. He supposed his lack of appetite had something to do with all of Gryffindor ostracising him, and the rest of the school just plain ignoring him, but…Harry grimaced, it wasn't like he'd any weight he could afford losing. If he didn't start putting some weight on soon, Pomfrey'd likely make good on her threat to tie him to a bed in the Infirmary and force-feed him.

When Harry was perfectly honest with himself, he knew that part of why he let himself be snared in by the Slytherins was that he wanted his – former? – friends in Gryffindor to react and pull him out, remind him of what scum they were and drag him back to the previously warm common room, somewhere he hadn't really properly been in weeks. He just felt more alone when he lingered there too long. Unwelcome and unwanted. Alienated. The better part of him, though, the larger part, relished in that the younger Slytherins _wanted_ and _liked_ him for what he had to _offer_ , rather than for who, what, he was expected to _be_.

Back at the Ministry, everyone who'd been there, they knew what had happened, and how Voldemort had possessed him. They'd seen how easy it'd been for Voldemort to take him over, how little chance Harry'd actually had. They knew about how Harry had thought himself to be Nagini. And then that last article in the Daily Prophet… How far was the jump, really?

"Would you vouch for me?" Malfoy said, out of the blue.

"Hmmm?"

"When I am forced to make a choice, Potter. Can I count on you?"

"Me? Yeah. Sure." Harry shrugged. "Don't think my word's going to be worth a whole lot of anything, though."

* * *

 **C'est la vie  
**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Harry wasn't sure which was worse: When he'd knocked on Snape's door at Grimmauld Place, or what he was about to do right now. He was standing outside Snape's office, hand raised as if to knock. It was just wrong. Plain wrong to visit Snape voluntarily. But it wasn't like there was anyone else he could talk to any more. Yeah, the other teachers still treated him the same as always, but Dumbledore still wasn't speaking to him. It was like last year all over again, only so much worse. He had to talk to Snape about Malfoy, and West, and the younger kids in Slytherin. He just had to…talk. Derek wasn't here, and he didn't think he'd ever missed anyone so much as he was missing Derek right now.

Because Harry was about to explode. Or quite possibly go mad.

He knocked. It didn't take Snape long to answer the door.

"Potter."

Harry managed a weak smile. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but didn't manage to construct a single syllable. Snape stared at him, saying nothing, his dark eyes fixed on Harry.

"Get in, Potter," Snape finally murmured. Grateful, Harry slipped inside the open door. He made a beeline for the chair in front of Snape's desk, opposite of the armchair on the other side. There was a stack of parchments on the desk, most likely essays, waiting to be corrected.

"What is the matter, then?" Snape asked when Harry still hadn't said a word.

Harry started. "I, um."

"Yes?"

"It's Malfoy."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"

Harry bit his lip. "D'you know if, if I can trust him, maybe?"

"Of course not," Snape said promptly, "He is a Malfoy. However, though the question is wrong, I think I know what you mean." Moving the stack of parchments to the side, Snape leaned forward over the desk, resting his elbows on the scratched surface. "No, Potter, he is not gathering information for the Dark Lord. I doubt he will join."

"Oh." Harry sagged with relief. "Good."

"Is it?"

Shrugging, Harry looked away. "He's the only one my age who really talks to me, y'know? I mean, yeah, Neville tries, but the rest of the blokes in my dorm don't make it easy for him."

"I shouldn't think so."

"Yeah." Harry fiddled with the sleeves of his robe, gathering his courage for a new question. "Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?"

Harry was sure he'd never heard Snape like this before, especially not since before the summer, talking to Harry without an ounce of malice or disgust or hatred. It was…nice. Unexpected, but really nice. "Tom West?"

"What about _him_?"

"D'you know what he's doing?"

Snape smirked, black eyes amused. "Oh, yes, I'm quite sure I do."

"Is it all right, d'you think?"

"I see nothing wrong with it."

"Oh," Harry said again. "I wasn't sure if you'd mind or not."

"No."

Snape waved his wand, conjuring a tea set along with some scones. Harry's stomach churned, but while he poured himself a cuppa at Snape's direction, he didn't touch the scones.

"Something I have noticed, and do mind, is that you are not sleeping in Gryffindor Tower."

Harry froze, eyes wide.

"Where are you at night?" Snape asked sharply, tone hard.

"Someone goes through my stuff," Harry whispered, his face pale but for the spots of red on his cheeks. "They tried to make off with it a couple of times. But I'd been warding it, like you told me to this summer. Then, after I'd begun to have my trunk on me all the time… They're hexing my bed, cursing it and… I can't sleep there. Sometimes, I can't even get into my own bed. I tried sleeping in the common room, but they just did the same there."

Snape's eyes were horrible. Harry felt giddy with relief that it wasn't him they were meant for. "Inexcusable," Snape hissed. "Is Minerva aware?"

Harry bit his lip. "Is it okay that I don't want to know if she is?"

Snape's eyes were still flinty, bright with hatred and disgust, but there was something about the set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw that calmed Harry. They weren't tense, as if he was about to strike out at Harry. "I'm sure your psychologist warned you against self-delusion."

"Small doses, he said." Snape snorted. "Don't tell me if you ask, please?" Harry begged.

Snape ignored him. "Where do you sleep, then? Not an empty classroom."

"No. It's the Room of Requirement. I ask it to keep me safe and wake me so I've time to get ready for class."

The Professor nodded. "Eat a scone, Potter."

Harry hesitated, then reached for the smallest one he could find, silently cursing the House Elves for making everything roughly the same size. After Harry had a scone in his hand, half-heartedly nibbling on it, Snape continued, "I can't allow you to continue sleeping in the Room of Requirement, Potter."

"I figured you couldn't."

Snape smirked. "Indeed. As it is, I can't allow you to sleep in your dormitory, either."

Harry's shoulders were slumped. "I tried, you know. I mean, I tried talking to them all. Neville really doesn't like—" Harry frowned, his eyes a bit distant. "They were all acting as if they didn't know me, you know. Even Ron was just staring right through me. It was really…odd." He wanted to say 'fucked up', but Snape was a teacher. He'd taken points for less. "They're calling me a slimy snake." Harry wet his lips., then said, "So I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"Not true," Snape disagreed He had been strangely quiet as he listened to Harry's confused little speech. "I have a guestroom. I will make sure _no one_ has a problem with you sleeping in there."

"Really?"

Snape didn't look nearly as sour as Harry was sure he wanted to. "Yes. Really." Snape stood up, indicating with a curt gesture that Harry was to follow. Harry, putting down his mostly uneaten scone, followed. Snape's dark eyes followed the motion, and while his lips tightened a bit, he didn't say anything. Harry did his best to ignore it.

The room was very bare, only holding a single bed that looked like it hadn't been used in many years. But the room was clean, and there was a thick shag pile on the floor. It wasn't even an overly large room, but for some reason, Harry instantly liked the room very much.

"I shall have to ask the House Elves to locate some furniture, obviously," Snape was saying.

"It's nice, Professor."

Snape ignored him. "You will be added to the wards and given a password. It will allow you – mark my words, Potter, _only_ you – to enter."

Harry wanted to ask who else he'd bring. In the end, he thought better of it and just nodded. "I understand," he said.

—x—

His trousers were too large.

Harry had noticed his failing appetite and the nausea he hadn't been able to shake since the school began. Talking to Derek had always helped, though. He'd always been hungry after he'd been to see Derek. _Fuck,_ he missed Derek. Living with Snape, always having the man nearby was setting his nerves on edge. Snape was always there, always watching, always _seeing_.

Madame Pomfrey had talked to him once or twice since he'd returned to Hogwarts. She'd noticed his failing appetite, too. Harry just wasn't sure if she'd told Snape, and in that case, what exactly she'd told him.

Standing in just his pants in front of the mirror, trousers pooled round his feet, Harry didn't get how he hadn't noticed just exactly how much weight he'd lost. Snape had been on him, he suddenly realised, all his comments and urgings about Harry eating a pie or a biscuit or a sandwich.

"Are you intending to spend the next forever in there, Potter?" Snape called from the other side of the door. Harry realised he'd been hogging the bathroom far longer than he usually did.

"No," Harry called back and hurriedly dressed. His hair wet, lying flat on his skull for once, with just one or two locks stubbornly sticking up, Harry opened the door.

"Hi."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as he walked past Harry into the bathroom.

Harry went back to his own room to change his clothes. Suddenly, he felt cold and an overwhelming urge to hide. He'd been staying with Snape for two weeks now and it showed. The room had somehow become his during that short time. Snape didn't seem to mind. In fact, if anything, he seemed amused.

Snape, Harry had decided after two days or so, was _weird_. Outside of his rooms, he could've fooled anyone that he wasn't anything less than a haughty pureblood. But in private? Harry sniggered.

—x—

It was to the screeching notes of _Ziggy Stardust_ that Harry came home. Two weeks ago, he hadn't even heard the name, but now he almost knew the text by heart. Snape listened to music _a lot_ and he did it _loud_.

He said it was because if he had to read essays full of drivel and bullshit, then he'd bloody well do it to proper music.

Harry wasn't feeling nearly suicidal enough to point out that David Bowie wasn't proper music, in any way.

"Where have you been?"

Harry started, whirled round. Snape was there, almost standing on top of him, his black eyes fixed intently on Harry's. There was only fifteen minutes left until curfew, the latest by far that Harry had been out in the weeks since he'd stayed with Snape.

"I… Tom wanted me to help him with his DADA homework."

"You weren't at dinner." The 'again' was left unsaid.

Harry bit his lip. "I wasn't hungry." Snape looked at him. For some reason, it made Harry feel extremely guilty. "I ate some toast."

"Toast."

Harry nodded. "Yeah." Harry's throat felt constricted. "I don't get sick from toast," he forced himself to say, heart hammering in his chest.

Snape's eyes went over him, taking him in. Harry was sure he noticed exactly how many layers Harry was wearing, the extra long-sleeved T-shirt under his school clothes, the jumper he was wearing over that.

"Some tea, I believe."

Harry wanted to protest. The look in Snape's eyes told him not to. With a flick of Snape's wand, he lowered the volume of the music. "Come," he said. Harry, as if he'd always done it, obeyed Snape without question.

That night, Snape served crackers with the tea. Harry found to his delight that he managed to eat several without his stomach turning. They were dry and slightly salty and didn't taste like much of anything at all, but they were more solid than most of what Harry managed on a daily basis these days. That night was also the very first time that Harry tried some of Snape's cooking. It was just a soup, granted, but it was probably one of the tastiest soups Harry had ever eaten. It was a green lentil soup, and it filled Harry's stomach just enough that he wasn't hungry any more most nights when he went to bed, and it warmed him up like nothing he had ever experienced before.

—x—

The entire day had been one disaster after another. He'd woken up feeling sort of dizzy with a headache. Snape – Harry swore the man had eyes like a hawk – had noticed before Harry'd even stepped out of bed, it felt like, and forced a potion or two down his throat. It had been early. Harry wasn't quite sure it had actually happened. Then, he'd been late to his first class, which just so _happened_ to be Potions.

Why? Because he'd been sick the moment he entered the Great Hall. He'd spent far too long in the bathroom with a clenching and rebelling stomach. By the time he'd felt even near comfortable moving, he'd already been five minutes late. By the time he'd finally arrived, it was late enough that Snape had snapped at him to get out, taken fifteen points and assigned him detention.

Yeah, Harry lived in Snape's flat, but that didn't mean that Snape would suddenly treat him any differently in class. If anything, Snape was more strict and stern with him. Harry guessed it was because these days Snape got a first-hand view of the amount of time Harry actually spent studying. So Harry'd spent the time when he should've been in class napping. Which, of course, had made him late for Transfigurations as well. McGonagall had only taken points, though.

But by lunch, Harry'd lost Gryffindor over twenty points. The Gryffindors were not happy. He'd seen more than one student glaring at him.

So Harry sat, shoulders hunched to make himself less of a target, and stared at his empty plate. He had considered eating, but nothing on the table made him even the slightest bit peckish. Rather the opposite, in fact. So, all in all, it looked to be yet another day where all he ate would be Snape's soup and his crackers.

Even the thought of it now made him feel a bit ill. Harry forced the feeling away and swallowed heavily.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry turned his head.

Pomfrey cleared her throat.

"Hi."

"See me in my office, Potter." It was not a request.

Harry swallowed nervously. His plate looked anything but eaten on and, by the look of the almost empty hall, lunch was over. A quick glance at the time told him he had fifteen minutes to get to class. This wasn't the first time she'd cornered him about his eating habits. At least once a year, in the beginning of term, she'd more or less interrogate him about why he wasn't eating as much as he should – which was also connected with the whole never-ending project of Harry not weighing as much as he should. The other years, though, by the time October neared, he'd have started to put on some weight, and at the very least have worked up a normal appetite.

Not his year, though.

It was already a week into October.

"I have class—" Harry began to protest. He didn't want to see her. She'd definitely know for sure, if he did. And, and then he'd know for sure that he was letting Snape down. Even now just the thought of it made his stomach clench in that peculiar way.

"After dinner," Pomfrey said drily.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I—"

Pomfrey merely raised an eyebrow. "Shall I send an escort?"

Harry got the feeling she'd be one step ahead of him no matter what he said. Glaring, he muttered, "I've got detention with Snape tonight."

Pomfrey just gave a brisk nod at this revelation. "Excellent. I'll have one of the House elves let him know that he is to walk you up."

Harry wanted to exclaim: _Aha! You are in cahoots with each other, aren't you?_ As if he had just revealed a dark master plan regarding the complete and utter defeat of Harry Potter's failing appetite. It felt like Snape and Pomfrey both were predators, who'd been circling him for a long time until now, finally, they had him surrounded. It wasn't the slightest bit funny, though. If anything, it made him feel lightheaded.

"I will see you tonight, then, Potter." Pomfrey turned on her heel and walked away.

Harry's glare was surly and petulant. "…fucking wank," he muttered.

As if to underline it all, he ended up being late for Charms, too. Flitwick only took five points, though.

—x—

Detention with Snape that night was rather unspectacular. Upon arrival, Harry had been tasked with cleaning cauldrons. It was familiar, boring and repetitive. Unfortunately, it meant his thoughts could run wild. Whatever it was Pomfrey wanted to see him for, Harry was firmly convinced it couldn't be anything good. And, more to the point, he absolutely didn't want to give Snape any kind of reason to believe that the soup-and-crackers diet wasn't working.

When there was an hour left until curfew, Snape told him to stop.

"I have been directed to escort you to the infirmary, Potter."

Harry scowled. "I'm fine!" he protested.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "If Poppy thinks otherwise—"

"She's always like that!" Harry protested. "Every time I come back after the summer, she's hounding me, like, once a week or something. But I always sort it out—"

"Do you mean to tell me, Potter, that you are frequently too sick to maintain a proper diet?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Um, no," he admitted. "S'just, this time."

"Mmmhmm," Snape said, sounding both disapproving and very much not amused. "Just this time. Do you not think it prudent, then, to allow her to examine you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me, though! I'm fine!"

Snape shook his head. "You are severely underweight, Potter—"

"I'm trying!"

"Potter." Harry closed his mouth. "I know you are."

"You do?" Harry asked, feeling strangely subdued. And warm. There was something warm, fluttering deep down inside. He forced the guilt away, because if Snape knew he was trying, then if he found out that Harry was still being sick… that might make Snape angry or disappointed. So Harry pushed it away, to the far reaches of his mind, and promptly ignored it.

"Yes. Now, let's go see what the esteemed Madame Pomfrey wants."

"She's a Napoleonic powermonger," Harry muttered as he stalked to the door. He thought he'd been too quiet for Snape to hear. Snape snorted. Harry chanced a look over his shoulder at Snape. The man looked rather too amused. "She is, though," he muttered insistently.

"If you say so," Snape agreed. He placed a hand on Harry's neck. Harry tensed, then quickly relaxed when he realised that all Snape was about to do, was sort of…guide him.

Snape certainly wasn't grabbing him by the neck, ready to toss him somewhere. It felt nice. Unexpected, but nice. Harry smiled.

"Sir?"

Snape grunted. His thumb was stroking the back of Harry's neck, making him shiver and transform his smile into something catlike.

"I'm sorry I was late this morning."

"I'm sure," Snape drawled.

Harry nodded, careful not to dislodge Snape's hand. "Will you let me brew the potion some other time?"

"I don't see why not. It won't count, of course, and it won't be graded. But if you wish, I will oversee your brewing."

"Mmmm, yes. If it's really all right, then I think I want that." Harry yawned. "Can't believe I'm so tired," he mumbled.

"It's because you are underweight," Snape said. The doors to the infirmary were coming up in view down the corridor. "You are likely more susceptible to falling ill, as well." Snape eyed him. "It will stunt your growth, too."

Harry started. "What? No!"

"Oh, yes," Snape said.

Horrified, Harry looked at Snape. Snape was much taller than him, like he'd always known, but the prospect of not growing tall enough to be able to look the man in the eye without straining his neck? It was definitely not something Harry wanted to contemplate. He'd never really had visions of being seven feet tall or something like that, but he'd sort of always assumed that when he grew up, he'd be, you know, _tall_. Not a little shrimp that everyone looked down on. Ron – hell, _all_ the Weasleys were taller than him, even Ginny, except maybe Mrs Weasley – was already towering over him, and Hermione'd had those one or two inches over him since last year. He'd never really thought about it, but Charlie had been a bit taller than him, too.

"Snape, I don't know _anyone_ who's shorter than me!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Cease the histrionics, Potter. _You_ _are not_ _that_ _short_. All I'm saying is eating disorders can have a negative effect on your growth."

"Eating disorder," Harry stuttered, "You think I have an, an eating disorder?"

Snape gave him a look. "What else would you call it?"

"I…I don't know," Harry mumbled. "But…it's not that I don't _want_ to eat, it's just that…it's just that I can't."

"I am aware." Snape nodded at the closed doors that led to the infirmary. "As Poppy, no doubt, soon will be as well."

Harry bit his lip. "If, if I promise—"

"Potter. This is not up to me. Madame Pomfrey is the MediWitch of Hogwarts. Therefore, all medical issues fall under her jurisdiction." Snape's gaze turned considering. "Unless, of course, you are hiding something."

It was the perfect opening, the best opportunity he'd ever had to tell Snape that he still couldn't keep anything down. With guilt clawing at his stomach, Harry looked away, lowering and shaking his head. "No, sir. S'nothing. I just really don't like being in there."

Why it was suddenly so important to appear strong in Snape's eyes, Harry had no idea. But it was more important to him, so much more important that pushing aside guilt and conjuring a couple of small, white lies didn't faze him very much. Because if he did, then he didn't have to think about facts like: how he absolutely, under no circumstances, wanted Snape to be disappointed in him, or worried about him, or…

Or feel let down.

It was easier to think about appearing strong, than exploring why he felt the way he did.

Snape pushed the door open, urged Harry inside, and called out for Poppy.

The matron was there in seconds. Harry _really_ didn't like the glint in her eyes. "Severus, Potter. Good evening."

"Hullo, Madame."

"On the bed, sit," she ordered. In here, Harry was powerless to do anything but obey.

So, he sat down. Allowed himself to be poked and prodded at, to be measured, weighted and questioned. It seemed like she had him in her clutches for hours, but that couldn't be, because he was back in his room in Snape's flat before curfew.

Snape had waited for Harry, leaning back on the bed opposite to the one Harry was sitting on. He'd heard the clucking and the humming, seen the results of the scans. Knew for a fact, now, that Harry was underweight and that his vision in his left eye was much worse than in his right eye. It wasn't the first time Pomfrey had updated the strength of his glasses.

But Snape had waited. For him.

No adult had ever waited for him, listened to what the doctor – or MediWitch – had to say and taken the recommendations to heart.

Harry felt warm, taken care of.

The guilt almost threatened to consume him. He pushed it away by telling himself that Snape was only doing it because he had to: there wasn't any other choice, was there? No one else wanted Harry at the moment, so they'd shipped him off to Snape. Logical, wasn't it? Harry told himself it was.

—x—

His belt was too large.

It was another couple of weeks later. He was always cold these days. It seemed no matter how much Harry wore, it was never enough. Harry had tried to eat more, he truly, honestly had, but… Obviously, it hadn't worked as well as Snape probably thought it had. As Pomfrey had assumed it would. Without a second thought, Harry shrunk the belt until it fit properly again. For a short moment, guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but then he firmed his resolve.

It was really, really important to him that he didn't make Snape disappointed in him. It was why he hadn't really told Snape about all the times he'd sicked up his dinner or lunch. Why he'd done his best to avoid Pomfrey at all costs – another visit in the infirmary would've revealed that Harry wasn't doing as well as they hoped, he was firmly convinced of it. Well, there was also the fact that Harry didn't really know how to tell Snape. Most of the time, it felt like a big, dark secret he had to keep at all costs. The more time that went by, the harder it became.

And he didn't want Snape to be disappointed with him.

—x—

When Snape grabbed Harry's wrist, his fingers easily met round it. Harry's hand was suspended over his bubbling potion, three porcupine quills held between his thumb and forefinger.

"The instructions clearly said one, Potter," Snape said. His eyes were very dark. There was a furrow between his eyebrows Harry didn't think he'd ever seen there before, and it made something in his stomach to twist with uncertainty and guilt.

"Remain after class."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

His potion was a disaster, thoughts racing through his head. What did Snape want to talk about? He didn't know, did he? Harry'd been so careful not to make him worry or disappointed. Harry'd honestly thought it'd be easier, because Snape didn't _like_ him, after all.

It was just… Snape was letting Harry stay in his flat. Harry got that it was because Snape didn't want him to roam round the school at night, or sleep in the Room of Requirement. He didn't get why Snape was always checking him over, though, looking at his homework, making sure he ate and slept properly. Snape insisted Harry clean his room once a week, he insisted Harry be in bed, not necessarily asleep, but in bed, by eleven at the very latest. Snape even let Harry babble at him.

The classroom emptied itself far too fast for Harry's peace of mind. His desk was still cluttered and the failed potion was still bubbling away merrily in his cauldron.

"Up here," Snape ordered.

Heart hammering in his chest, Harry stood up and walked up to where Snape was standing by his desk. "Sir?"

"Give me your hands, Potter," Snape said, his voice quiet but serious. Bemused, Harry held out his hands. Snape grabbed them with his own. Once again, he let his fingers circle Harry's wrists, and this time even Harry could see how easily Snape's fingers reached round and how Snape's fingers even overlapped.

"Oh."

"Have you been lying to me, Potter?" Snape's eyes were hard, the restrained anger in them easy for Harry to see.

Just as easy as the blatant disappointment.

Harry felt his own eyes sting. He shook his head. "I tried so hard," he whispered. "But…"

"But?"

Harry swallowed. "I…I…"

"Potter," Snape prompted him. His tone wasn't kind, but it wasn't cross, either.

"My trousers don't fit any more," Harry made himself say, "and then you started with the crackers and the soup and, and I started feeling…weird, so I tried eating more. Honest, I did, and you'd look at me, and I'd feel like I'd done something right, for once. And Pomfrey said it'd work, she did! But it didn't and, but then this morning my belt didn't fit any more, and I knew it was 'cause, 'cause I can't do anything right."

Snape's fingers under his chin lifted Harry's face up, forcing Harry to meet Snape's gaze. "Why is that, Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath. His eyes were stinging even worse than before. "'Cause the food made me sick. I was so careful! But I just got sick, no matter what. And, and I didn't want to disappoint you," he whispered, looking away.

"Potter," Snape said again. The fingers under Harry's chin were firm. Harry made himself look up again. "You should have told me before."

"Why?" Harry asked, plaintive and confused. "I don't understand. Why should I've done that? Why d'you even want to know? I don't understand!"

"I would have thought getting better lay in your own best interest," Snape said. Harry just stared, chin raised stubbornly. Snape rubbed his nose. "Why do I care – that's what you mean, correct?"

"No one cares," Harry accused Snape mulishly. "Oh, they pretend to, but then I do something freakish and unnatural, and suddenly everyone's got something better to do. I'm never worth—"

"Stop." Snape's eyes were very dark, almost scary in their intensity.

"It's what always happens," Harry protested.

"Through no fault of your own. Quite the opposite." Harry's confusion and hurt were very visible. "No. Your friend Mr West cares, I'm sure, as does his father—"

"Only 'cause I pay him," Harry muttered.

"Oh? How many patients do you honestly think he allows into his home, near his children?"

Harry scowled. "So I'm special, that's what you're saying?"

Snape shook his head. "No. I'm saying that Derek cares about you."

Unbidden, the memory of how Derek had let Harry sleep on his couch, woken him in time, and given him breakfast that morning when they were leaving for Hogwarts came to mind. Harry'd woken with that soft blanket wrapped round him. Had Derek placed it there?

"In fact, only this morning Poppy expressed her concerns about you. It is far from the first time she has done so this term, as you very well know."

"She says she's gonna tie me to a bed and force-feed me," Harry mumbled.

"Really?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm always too skinny."

Snape made a curious sound in the back of his throat. "Perhaps not the best course of action," Harry thought the man muttered to himself. "So, you could say that both Derek and Poppy care for you."

Harry bit his lip. "I guess. Maybe."

"Then why can't I? After all, I am more than aware of just how troublesome you can be."

"You mean, I couldn't make you—"

"No."

"Oh."

There was just something so wrong about hearing Snape say he cared. Even after Harry'd seen him in the mornings before he was properly awake, after he'd heard him sing along to queer texts to that weird music he listened to, even after he'd seen him stretched out on the sofa, dead asleep. He'd heard Snape curse, heard him laugh, seen him with his hair wrapped up in a towel like a girl, walked in on him having a piss, heard him yell at the kettle after it'd fallen on his toe. It was just…caring made Snape human. Despite all that Harry now knew Snape was a normal person, if right _weird_ , it just wasn't logical that Snape could do that.

Care.

It was just… Snape could have mentioned Harry's old friends in Gryffindor, the Weasleys or Dumbledore. All people Harry'd known cared about him before. But Snape hadn't. And maybe that meant that Snape cared, just a little? If he didn't want to hurt Harry?

"It's not right," Harry mumbled.

Snape barked a laugh. "Of course it's not. But, Potter," he said, seriously. Harry's eyes darted up to meet Snape's again. "You need to stop thinking along the terms of right and wrong, and start acting along what's natural."

"Natural?"

"What your gut tells you to do. I'm sure even you have _that_ instinct?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry's eyes began stinging again. It felt as if there was a great lump in his throat. "It wanted me to tell you. I wanted to so bad, and I felt so guilty. But I couldn't, 'cause then you'd be disappointed—"

"False assumption," Snape chided.

"You wouldn't have been?"

"No. I wouldn't have been."

"Are you? Now, I mean?"

"No," Snape said again. "However, I do believe lunch is in order."

Harry's stomach lurched.

That afternoon, Snape excused Harry from the rest of his classes and cancelled his own. To Harry, that was unheard of. They spent the rest of the afternoon in a long meeting with Pomfrey, painstakingly laying down the diet Harry was to follow from now. But it wasn't just that Harry wasn't eating properly that was the problem. It was whatever was causing that, and that needed to be dealt with as well.

—x—

"Hi, Derek," Harry whispered. He was standing in the doorway of Derek's office.

Derek stared back at him, his eyes wide and face pale. "Oh, Harry! What happened?"

Harry fidgeted with his hands. "D'you know how I told you my relatives wouldn't feed me when I was bad?"

Derek nodded. "Yes." He walked over to Harry, placed an arm round Harry's shoulders and led him inside. They sat down together on Derek's couch. "Have you been punishing yourself?"

"I dunno. The whole school hates me, nobody wants me. Everyone's always staring at me. Whispering. Then, then Snape took me in, looked after me and I couldn't disappoint him! He'd noticed I wasn't eating properly, and I tried! But I couldn't keep anything down, and I wasn't ever hungry and—"

"Calm down, Harry. From the beginning, okay?" Derek smoothed a hand through Harry's hair.

"Okay."

Harry dared to believe that maybe Snape was right and that Derek cared a little about him, for real.

—x—

Napoleonic powermonger – said Jack O'Neill from Stargate SG-1, about their doctor.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for the reviews. Some are more amusing than others to read, but all of them feeds my ego, so to speak. The snow is falling quite freely here, and has been doing so all day. It's cold and beautiful. Winter, after all, is the best season of the year if you ask me.

In this chapter we'll see a bit more of Zabini.

* * *

—CHAPTER 6—

"Harry," a timid voice asked. Harry looked up to see Lilith, a small second year, smile shyly at him. "Can my brother come, too?" she wanted to know.

Harry just shrugged. He didn't really care who they brought along. The more, the merrier, really. Besides, it meant he was less alone, if not less lonely, so he was all for it. He remembered to smile at her, just a small smile of his that seemed to work wonders on skittish Slytherins. At this point, he wasn't really sure why they were skittish to begin with. Before all these 'study sessions' had started, he'd always sort of assumed all Slytherins were more like Malfoy. Maybe it was just the fact that so far, he'd been older than all of them.

"Of course," Harry said when he realised he hadn't answered yet. Lilith grinned, then darted out of the classroom. It wasn't until she came back, tugging an older boy after her that he realised he had forgotten to ask who, exactly, her brother was. Or even what her surname was.

It had been a few weeks since the first fifth years had begun dropping in, and really, Harry knew, it shouldn't be a surprise, because he'd been more than aware that sooner or later his own year mates would start showing up as well. He just hadn't thought it would be so soon. Hadn't been prepared for it. No. Not at all.

"Harry," she said and the pride was unmistakeable, "this is my brother."

"Zabini," Harry said and stood, face for once void of his customary smile. He wanted to ask what Zabini was doing here, what he thought he was trying at, but the fact that he'd never demanded anything from the other kids, well. Asking was probably right out of the question. "You don't need meto tutor you, do you?"

"Oh, Merlin, no. No, Potter, I am not desperate. _I_ came for the scintillating conversation."

"Oh." Harry relaxed a little. "Guess you're welcome, then." It felt like everyone gathered seemed to suddenly relax as well. Harry sat back down, feeling his insides squirming. He reached for his bag and pulled out a box with grapes Snape had given him that morning. He'd give Harry a snack, every day, and Harry'd do his best to manage to eat it before the day was over.

Zabini pulled over a chair and sat down opposite to him. "So, Potter."

"Yeah?" He pulled one grape from the cluster and placed it in his mouth, chewing it slowly and methodically.

"You're the one who has been tutoring Lilith in Charms, aren't you?"

Harry smiled. "Why?" He picked another grape, repeating the process.

"She wouldn't say."

"She's a Slytherin. I hear they like their secrets."

"Oh, we do," Zabini assured him. "But she's my sister."

"Yeah, I know."

Zabini smiled. Harry allowed himself to look a bit closer at Zabini, then looked over at Lilith where she was playing a round of Cluedo with a couple of her year mates. They were both dark, granted, and handsome. Same brown eyes, same shape of the nose, and the mouth, really, but other than that they didn't look much alike. He really should have seen it, he mused. He'd just never known Zabini had a sister.

"May I?" Zabini wanted to know, drawing Harry from his thoughts.

"What?"

"The grapes." Zabini looked amused.

Harry paused. On the one hand, Snape wanted him to eat them all. Usually, he managed about half of whatever it was Snape packed off with him. So sharing wasn't really a problem. Besides, Zabini _was_ awfully handsome. He'd just tell Snape he'd shared the grapes.

"Sure." Harry smiled.

"Thank you," Zabini said smoothly and reached for a handful of grapes.

Harry took another one.

—x—

"You ate _all_ of them?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry flushed. "Um. Well, no."

"No?"

"I shared them."

"Shared them," Snape repeated, deadpan.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. With Zabini."

"Blaise Zabini?" Harry nodded, suddenly looking very busy toeing his socks off.

"He showed up at the meeting," Harry muttered.

—x—

"Has it been a good or bad week since last time?"

Harry smiled. "Good. It's been…good. I'm eating a little more. But Snape's real careful about what kind of food I eat, so it's slow going. Veggie stuff, mostly. But that's probably good, I think. Snape reckons I got sick more than I had to 'cause I kept eating heavy food. I dunno." He shrugged. "But it's been good."

Derek smiled. "That's definitely good news."

"Snape thinks so, too," Harry confided, feeling only a little shy.

"Professor Snape seems to have made you a great deal of good, too."

Harry's smile widened a fraction. "He says he cares." Which made Harry remember the other 'thing' he'd wanted to talk about. "Um."

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry frowned. He shifted a bit on the sofa, finally just pulling himself together by curling up, just like he used to do during the summer. "I've been running these study nights, or club nights like Tom call them, for a while now. It's just, lately, people my age have begun showing up."

"Is that a problem?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Not, um, as such."

"In what way then?"

Harry grinned. "S'the 'Blaise Zabini' problem."

"Oh!" Derek grinned and rolled his eyes. " _That_ problem."

"Mmhmm. He's awfully handsome, and I think I want to, you know, _like_ him."

Derek turned serious again. "Something is making you hesitate?"

"Yeah. Um. It's really been bothering me all term, but I sort of pushed it away—"

"This might have been good to know when you first began seeing me again, Harry."

Harry nodded. "I know. I just…"

"Harry?" Derek prodded gently.

"I _really_ didn't want to think about it. I don't like how I feel when I think about it."

The chair Derek was sitting in creaked, as if the man had shifted. Harry was too busy pulling at the loose skin by his nails to look up to check, though. "You remember I told you about, about Charlie, right?"

A short pause. "Yes. I'm not sure if you ever mentioned him by name, but we talked about it."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Turned out he liked me, too. He, um, is a bit older than me."

"How much older?" When Harry didn't answer, Derek added, "Harry?"

Harry sucked on his bottom lip. "Eight years, I think."

"That is—"

"A lot, I know, yeah. But he was great about it. You know? We'd talk, _a lot_ , whenever he was over. Yeah, I get that part of it had to do with the fact that we were basically the only ones in the house all summer. Everyone else seemed to just have, I dunno, disappeared. Then one night, I'd just come back from seeing you, he came looking for me. He had a birthday present for me."

"What kind of present?" The question was a bit stiff, which Harry thought to be a bit odd, but he didn't pay it any mind

Harry shrugged. "Glasses. Tumblers, I think. With dragons on them. Charlie works with dragons, so I think he'd found them at work, but they were still brilliant. Collector's item, he said. They were really cool. We ended up going to the cinema, one of those midnight films. It was…" Harry smiled. "I really liked it. I didn't even know he was, you know, into, um, blokes until then. But then a few days later he had to go back to work again."

"Did he know about you, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "I think so. M'not sure, to tell the truth. The next time he came over, which was a couple of weeks later, he said he'd noticed me watching him. Even called the cinema thing a date." That brought another smile to Harry's face. "I'd bought a drink, but only taken one straw. Indirect kissing, he called it. Teased me something awful about it. And we'd shared the armrest." Harry's smile grew. "I think that night, at the cinema, s'one of the best memories I have. I was so happy. It wasn't too much, you know?"

"Just perfect, then." Harry nodded. "Just out of curiosity, what is the age of consent in the Wizarding world?"

"I…actually have no idea. I know seventeen is when we come of age, but I don't know if that's the same." Harry's forehead furrowed as he thought. "Though…we're not allowed to do it at Hogwarts. Maybe that's because Hogwart's a school, though."

Derek agreed. "Both could be true. Ask Professor Snape for me. Just so I know when to tell Alec to have a little talk with Tom"

"Okay," Harry agreed, a wicked grin tugging at his lips.

Derek winked. "But to turn back to the matter at hand."

Harry toned down his smile. "Yeah, okay. So, Charlie went back to work for a while again. Then when he came back, he asked how I'd been since out date. So I think he knew I wasn't quite straight, or at least that I was curious. I told him, though, that while I kinda liked him, I wasn't all that comfortable with it. He said he was okay with it, even told me there was no rush." Harry felt his cheeks turn hot. "And, um, then he kissed me. He'd kiss me a lot, you know. Whenever he had me alone somewhere, he'd always touch me, kiss me. I liked it. But I was busy with other stuff, too, so it wasn't like all I ever did was see Charlie. And he went off a lot, too."

"You never felt pressured to do more?"

Harry shook his head. "No. He was…good about it, I suppose. Or, well. I always thought so. I mean, he joked about that, once I felt a bit more comfortable about it all, we'd get to, um, _you_ _know_. But it was always jokes and teasing with him."

"What else did he say?"

"Nothing and everything." Harry shrugged. "He helped me out when I needed a hand with something magical. We talked. We had fun."

Derek nodded. There was a furrow between his brows that told Harry there was something about what he'd just told Derek didn't sit right with the man. "What was it you pushed away, then?"

"Oh…I said that?"

"Harry," Derek reprimanded him. "What did I say about deluding yourself?"

"Small doses," Harry drawled, feeling a little impish.

Derek shook his head. "Not to do it," he corrected, sounding amused.

"Yeah, s'what I said."

Lowering his glasses a tiny bit, Derek gave Harry a stern, but laughing, look over the brim. As if to say: 'behave'. It made Harry feel a little bit naughty, but not enough so that he could resist sticking his tongue out. Which he did.

Then he turned serious again, picking at a loose thread from the hem of his jumper. It smelled of Snape and potions and something Harry was tentatively starting to call 'home'.

"The last night before going back to Hogwarts, I asked him to help me shrink my trunk. And…then he asked me out to dinner. We had Italian, I think, and we walked back. After that…it's a bit…fuzzy."

"What happened next?"

"Charlie suggested we test the tumblers he'd got me." Harry fumbled with his hands. "I think we played poker, and that I cheated. It's a bit blurry. But up till the point where we were still playing cards, I was having fun."

"And then?"

Harry shrugged. "We were laughing. He accused me of cheating. I said I wasn't. I think I just wanted the toffees we were playing for. He said something about stripping cheaters, something about feathers and tar. But since I wasn't cheating, then maybe he should just strip me." Harry shot a quick glance at Derek. Derek was looking at him, eyes serious, face concerned.

"Did he?"

Harry shook his head. "No…not exactly. I told him no. We laughed. Then we played…paper, scissor, stone. We won a time each, I think, and lost our shirts. He was kissing me a lot by then." Feeling utterly lost, Harry raised his head just enough that he could look Derek in the eye. "I…I was drunk, you know? Or I think I was. Everything was spinning, and I felt really dizzy, but I was _happy_."

"Did you know what you were doing? Where you were?"

"I…yeah. I think so. I was just, just, you know. Tipsy. Happy. And it felt good. Just…"

"Just?"

"I feel like I made myself want it… Made myself like it? I'm not sure if I _liked_ it, you know? In the beginning I couldn't sleep properly, 'cause I kept seeing him leaning down over me, and I felt…weird. Off. I didn't like it afterwards. I'm…not sure if I liked it at the time, either, 'cause I kept thinking, like 'I have to moan now'. I felt disconnected. So I made myself not think about it, and pushed it away."

"Resorted to familiar tactics," Derek filled in, Harry agreed with a nod. "Would you have done it if you had been sober?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't even need to think about it. Even now, the response was automatic. "No. No."

"Alcohol impairs judgement, Harry—"

"I know what it does," Harry snapped. "I'm not stupid. If I'd have been with anyone but Charlie, I wouldn't even have touched the stuff. I _hate_ not being in control. Everyone in my dorm's been messing about with alcohol since last year, but I never wanted in on it. I had enough problems without it. I didn't want to lose control of myself, or say something stupid. But Charlie… I felt safe with him."

"Had he been drinking as well?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I guess I thought he'd be more used to it because he was older, though. I should've known better. But he knew!"

"Knew, what?"

Harry gesticulated at himself. "He was the one who kept saying there wasn't any rush, and that I should just let it take its time. He kept… I know he knew I didn't want to, want to…have sex. I know he did! But then all of a sudden he wants me naked, starts…touching me, and… I wasn't sober enough to tell him off for it. Because it felt good, it did, and I was happy, I just didn't want it right then."

Derek's chair creaked, then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Surprised, Harry looked up to see Derek leaning down over him. The sofa dipped as Derek sat down next to him. "This question may be offensive to you, but I feel I have to ask. All right?"

Too stunned to do much more than stare, Harry managed a shaky nod.

"Did he penetrate—" Derek didn't get much further than that. Harry went beet red.

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "No, definitely not!" He wet his lips, cleared his throat. "Um. He went down on me. I think I made myself give him a handjob. That's the part I really don't want to remember. But we didn't, _you know_. That." Confused, intrigued and morbidly curious, he asked, "People…do that? They… _like_ it?"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "A bit beside the point, perhaps. But, yes, it is both done and enjoyed. But, as with everything, it's not for everyone."

A bit wide-eyed, Harry nodded. "Okay."

Shaking his head, Derek continued, "I want you to do something for me. It doesn't have to be right away, but I want you to tell a person of your own choice about what happened with Charlie. Can you do that?"

"I don't… Who?"

"Professor Snape comes to mind."

Harry shifted. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Promise you'll try?"

Harry thought about it for a minute. "Okay. I can do that. Try."

"That's all I can ask."

"But, about Charlie?"

"Yes?"

"I really do like him, you know. Or at least I did." Harry thought about it for a short moment. "No, I still like him. I don't think I can pin it all on him, because I'd like to think that if we'd both been sober, none of it would've happened."

Derek's smile was a bit tight. "I know. That's what makes it so complicated. It's why you're so hesitant about Blaise, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, partly. I haven't heard from Charlie since that night, either. I think that hurt the most. That he wouldn't even send an owl. Wasn't I worth even that much?"

"You're worth the world, Harry," he was told, quite firmly, by Derek. "Never question that. Never forget that."

—x—

Being the last 'customer' of the day, just like Snape, Pomfrey and Derek had planned, meant that Harry could stretch out on the sofa, most often with a blanket on top of him that Derek would place there, and nap until Snape arrived. Some sessions left him more worn out than others, and after this one, Harry was pretty much dead to the world when Snape arrived.

Derek shook him awake. Harry made a whining, protesting sound, then promptly turned around. "Harry, Professor Snape's here."

"Hmmf."

"Dr Hayes." Harry turned his head towards where Snape's voice came from.

"Professor Snape. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Harry yawned. "You're so bloody formal," he mumbled into the crook oh his elbow.

"Some are that way inclined, Mr Potter," Snape drawled. "Are you planning on joining us sometime this century?"

"Mmm, comfy."

There was a moment of silence. "You do not want pizza, then?"

Harry peeked an eye open, perking up. "Pizza?"

"Just down the street, I believe. Dr Hayes recommended them. Something about an award…"

"Yes," Derek agreed, "according to a survey they serve the best pizza in London."

"Just so. I made reservations last week, in fact. But if you are not interested…"

"I'm up!" Harry protested, sitting up so fast it looked almost like he had apparated into an upright position. His hair was standing on ends and there was a red mark on his cheek, from where he had been resting it on his arm. "Pizza?" he wondered, even as he was putting his glasses on.

"One track mind, have we, Potter?" Snape looked dreadfully amused where he was standing, arms crossed, as he leaned against Derek's desk.

Derek himself was grinning, sitting on the chair behind the desk. "You have the worst case of bedhead I have ever seen."

Harry pouted. He grumbled about lying back down again, when he remembered why he was sitting up in the first place, and perked up again. "Pizza?"

—x—

It was another day, another club/study night. That day, Parkinson and Nott decided to make an appearance, showing up together, arm in arm. Harry blinked. He'd been so sure Nott would follow his Death Eater father's footsteps. And he'd been just as sure that Parkinson had something going on with Malfoy. Huh. He really hadn't been expecting this.

"Ah." Harry cleared his throat. Under the table, Zabini nudged his shin with the tip of his shoes. "Welcome. Nice to, uh…see you here." Zabini snorted, loudly. Harry grinned at him. "Shut up, you. I'll have you know—"

"Yes?" Zabini drawled, one mocking eyebrow raised.

"Well, you see…" Harry gave an impish smile. "I'll have you know, they're a right better sight than—

 _Tom_!" he suddenly yelled. Whenever the boy was in front of a cauldron, Harry made sure to be somewhere where he could see _exactly_ what the boy was up to.

Tom froze, his fist clenched above his, so far, calmly simmering potion. "What are you brewing?" Harry asked.

"…Calming Draught?" Tom suggested.

"And what's that in your hand?" Harry wanted to know.

There was a definite smirk playing round the boy's lips. "Dried spider legs, Harry."

Zabini sniggered.

"And what happened last time you did that?"

Tom grinned. "The greatest explosion ever!"

Harry was smiling, too, by then. "Yeah, and then Professor Snape shut us out from that classroom. Which number was that? Seven?"

"Eighth," Tom said promptly.

Harry turned back to Zabini, then noticed that Parkinson and Nott were still standing in the doorway. "Welcome to Potter's Disasters?"

"I'm disinclined to be grateful," Parkinson sneered, and pulled Nott with her to one of the available workstations.

Zabini nudged him with his foot again, only this time his foot lingered entirely too long.

Harry felt warm.

"Not going to brush me off?" Zabini whispered in his ear.

"Should I?"

Zabini chuckled. "Maybe you should."

After the meeting, Zabini turned to him and said, "Shall I walk you home?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress, Zabini." Harry didn't look at him, too focused on fixing his bag and checking so that everything was there. The bag was rather too worn and probably a little too small by now. He'd had it since first year, after all.

"Of course you're not. If you were, I wouldn't have asked."

That stilled Harry's hands. He looked up. Zabini was staring at him, one eyebrow raised. What he wanted was plain to see. Harry grinned. Yeah, Zabini was fit.

"This way," Harry said, and led the way to Snape's office.

"Are the rumours true?"

"Am I staying in an old Head Boy room, you mean? No. I'm staying with Professor Snape."

Zabini slowed his pace. Curious, Harry did the same. "What?"

"It just occurred to me that perhaps I _shouldn't_ walk you home."

Harry shrugged. "He won't be in his office this late."

"Still," Zabini insisted, "Professor Snape has many ways of finding out when we do that which we shouldn't."

"And what would that be?"

Zabini's grin was almost scary, most definitely lecherous, but what it did to Harry was start a slow building fire in his stomach. Harry grinned back at him.

—x—

With two minutes to spare before curfew, Harry made it inside Snape's flat.

"And where have you been?"

"I was just talking a walk," Harry protested. He felt a little pleased that Snape had been worried about him, just because he hadn't made it home when he usually did. If Snape worried, then it meant he cared.

Harry decided he liked being cared about.

"Indeed?" Snape looked amused. "Must have been a vigorous walk."

Harry flushed. "Oh. Um. It was."

"And how _is_ Mr Zabini?"

"Just fine," Harry muttered.

"I'm sure." Snape's eyes were glittering. "Some tea, Potter."

"Yessir." Harry made a beeline for his room.

"Oh, and do fix your shirt, Potter. It's not done up right."

Harry slammed the door closed. On the other side, Snape could be heard laughing. "Stupid git," Harry muttered, throwing his bag on the bed. He almost tore his shirt in his haste to get it off. He pulled on a jumper instead, because there were no chances of getting _that_ wrong. Flicking his wand, he silently _Accio_ 'd the box of fruit.

It wasn't the first time he'd considered telling Snape he was queer. The idea had been there for a while, subconsciously, but most definitely there since he'd talked with Derek. He honestly didn't think Snape'd mind, not really. Derek had told him that not everyone was open-minded about it, particularly not the older the people were. That hadn't exactly been news to Harry. But as for Snape… Well, Snape was weird. And besides, with all his comments about Zabini lately, it wouldn't surprise Harry if the man already knew about that. Also, Snape listened to Bowie, and some of those lyrics were seriously queer – both weird _and_ gay.

' _You've got your mother in a whirl, she's not sure if you're a boy or a girl_ ' or ' _People stared at the makeup on his face, laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace_ ' or ' _He flexes like a whore, falls wanking to the floor_ '

Yeah, Harry knew them all way too well by now, and it wasn't even by choice. Harry's heart sped up a little. Maybe, even if Snape already knew like Harry suspected he did, it was still time to say it. He'd only ever sort of implied it to Derek, and Charlie had asked. Zabini had just assumed. But Snape? Yeah, the man messed with his head, but… Part of admitting a problem, or getting over an obstacle so you could move on was first admitting it to yourself, then saying it out loud.

"I'm gonna tell him," Harry whispered to himself. The door was still closed, and he had his hand on the handle. "I don't care if he already knows, I'm gonna tell him."

Snape had set the coffee table with tea and biscuits and scones. The sight of it made Harry pause in the doorway of his room. It temporarily distracted him.

"I don't think I can eat, sir."

Snape motioned him over, but he didn't say anything.

"You overslept this morning, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep last night." Harry accepted the cup of tea Snape had prepared for him. He stared at the steaming cup for a few seconds, then put it down and stood up. He went to Snape's little kitchen and grabbed a larger mug, poured water and milk into it in equal measures then warmed it up with a flick of his wand. He found the pot of honey and the jar of a spicy 'Christmas-y' blend of tea – cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, almonds and saffron – Snape had written all of it out neatly on the jar, but the smell reminded Harry of Christmas. Harry'd found it delicious with a lot of milk in the tea water, and a healthy dollop of honey.

Snape was slouching in his armchair when Harry made it back, his tea fixed to perfection.

"You missed breakfast."

Harry nodded, curling up in his corner of the sofa. He spread the knitted quilt over his lap, then grabbed his mug from where it was hovering in the air next to his head. He was looking at his lap when he forced himself to say, "And…and I sicked up after lunch and I couldn't eat anything at dinner."

The armchair creaked. Then the sofa dipped as Snape sat down next to Harry. "Potter," he said.

"I'm sorry!" Harry burst. He didn't notice how much he was shaking, until Snape plucked the mug from his hands.

"There is no need for you to upset yourself, Potter," Snape calmly told him, setting the mug down on the coffee table. "The road back is…difficult and long. There will be setbacks, and there will be times you can't make yourself eat, no matter what. All I ask is that you never lie to me about it. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "I think so."

"I want you to promise me."

"I promise."

Snape looked at Harry, the black eyes seeming as if they were looking straight through Harry. Finally, the man nodded, as if satisfied with whatever it was he'd seen. "I will heat up some lentil soup, and you will eat until you are full."

There was no arguing that, Harry knew, so he just sighed. "My stomach's all queasy," he told Snape quietly.

"How fortunate, then, that I have a potion that will solve that particular problem for you."

"Why can't I take it all the time, then?"

The look on Snape's face told Harry he should've known the answer to that question without having to ask. "Because your body will build up a resistance," he drawled, as if it should've been obvious to everyone.

It still felt strange to Harry that _Snape_ of all people suddenly was…important. Someone he didn't want to disappoint, someone whose promise he didn't want to break. He didn't want to think it was just because Snape was there and appeared to care when no one else did, because that, well, that was sure to disappoint Snape. That didn't mean it wasn't part of the reason why Snape's opinion suddenly mattered. Why it was suddenly so important that Snape be _proud_ of him.

Snape read a book while Harry ate his soup. It was delicious, just like always. It'd been news to Harry that Snape cooked his own food, and that the man was both good at it and liked doing it. The potion kept him from getting sick, but not from knowing when he'd had enough, which he was grateful for.

"Snape?" he asked, when he'd finished the bowl. The tea he'd prepared earlier was still pleasantly warm and he sipped it slowly. Sometimes, he really loved magic.

"Yes, Potter."

"I've something to tell you."

"Hmmm?" Snape ran his finger down the page he was reading. Absentmindedly, he reached for a scrap of parchment on the table. He placed it slowly on top of the page, then closed the book. Snape blinked, then turned to look at Harry. "Yes?"

For a moment, Harry floundered. Then he gathered himself and looked straight at Snape. "I'm gay," he blurted. He was almost surprised the words came so effortlessly to his tongue. He'd never said it before, after all. Subconsciously, he'd always thought it'd be harder than that because even in all his talks with Derek, he'd never been able to outright say it.

Snape smirked. "I had surmised as much, yes." The man looked far too amused than he had any right to be, Harry sulked to himself. "Or was I not supposed to notice? Your efforts in keeping a low profile have been admirable. Amusing, very much so, but admirable. For a Gryffindor, that is."

"Well, you're the master spy," Harry grumbled. "I just don't wanna be known as the homo in a boarding school."

"Like I said, Potter: admirable," Snape murmured.

Harry took a drink for his tea. "But you're not, like, you know, disgusted or disappointed or anything, are you?" Harry cast a wary eye at Snape.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Try not to be more stupid than you have to be, Potter."

Harry grinned. "Sorry. You're sort of the first person I told on my own. Even if you already knew."

"Did you expect a celebration?" Snape drawled drily. "Perhaps I should wave a flag and announce to the world how proud I am of my gay ward? How about a badge, Potter? Pink, perhaps. Yes, definitely pink."

Harry couldn't help it: he snorted on his tea, then burst out laughing. "No, sir. It's fine, really, you don't have to do anything."

"How wise of you, Potter."

Harry gave Snape a cheeky grin. "I know, sir. I've got whole moments of it."

Regardless of the fact that Snape had already known about it, it was a weight off Harry's shoulders. He found it was easier to relax around Snape than it had been before.

* * *

 **See you next week.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews.

Someone wondered if snape was gay. Honest? I really don't care either way, but I've made no allusions to it, either. In this story, in my mind, he's straight. Again, that's just the way I choose to see it. The question if other kids would ever come to th stydy sessions was also raised, and the answer to that one is: I don't know. They could already be there, and I've just not written it out.

On another point entirely: if you think Snape's reaction is too mellow, try and remember that Harry is almost asleep, here (in other words: wait for it-!).

* * *

—CHAPTER 7—

"Why do you always eat, Potter?"

Harry froze. "I—I'm not always eating," he protested. His stomach turned at the thought of _always eating_. He'd end up like Dudley or his Uncle Vernon. _He was not going to look like that!_ The box of snack-sized pieces of melon was abruptly closed. He'd even packed it before he could stop and think properly about what he was doing.

"No?" Zabini raised an eyebrow. "Every time I walk in here, you are always eating out of that little box of yours."

"That doesn't mean I always eat, though."

"Of course not," Zabini drawled. To Harry it didn't sound as if he meant it, though.

—x—

"You did not eat your fruit today?"

Harry shook his head. "No. And I won't."

"You won't?" Snape's tone was dangerous, but Harry was too occupied by the thought that Zabini thought he was always eating to notice.

"No."

"Why is that?"

Harry frowned. "I'm getting fat," he told Snape. As if to prove it, he pulled up his jumpers and T-shirts to expose his stomach. Then he pinched his skin together. "Look! It's hideous! And I'm always eating, and it doesn't go anywhere—"

"Harry."

Harry shut his mouth, eyes wide. "What?"

"You are not getting fat, you idiot boy," Snape exclaimed, exasperated.

"But look," Harry protested. "And—"

Snape hiked up his own shirt, then did the same. "Am I fat, too?"

"I—"

"Well?"

"I don't know!" Harry burst out. "But I'm always eating, and Zabini said he only ever sees me eating, and I don't want to be like Dudley or Uncle Vernon, I don't! Dudley was always eating—!"

"You won't turn into them, Potter," Snape almost snapped. "This," and he jiggled the flesh he was pinching, "is insulation. It keeps you warm. It's not fat."

Harry just stared at Snape. "You promise?"

"If it will ease your mind, Potter, then, yes, I promise."

"Okay," Harry mumbled.

Snape adjusted his clothes. "You shouldn't listen to what others have to say about your eating habits, Potter."

"I listen to you, don't I?" Harry blurted at once. "And Madame Pomfrey, and Derek, and…"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry." Harry fidgeted with his clothes, smoothing them out after he had bunched up all his layers so he could show Snape the fat on his stomach. Only, Snape said it wasn't fat. He had this feeling that he used to know whether it was or wasn't, but this term… This term, nothing was the way it had been. Harry stood up and went over to one of Snape's many bookshelves, where the record player was. The bookshelves more or less lined the room, wall-to-wall. There were even shelves built, somehow, over the doors. Harry suspected magic had helped Snape fix that.

There were spaces without bookshelves, too, of course. Like where the fireplace was, or the doors themselves. But Snape had a lot of books. And old records. Some of them were even passable.

"Don't scratch it," Snape murmured from the sofa.

Harry hesitated. He'd been real careful as he slid the record from its sleeve, real careful as he placed it on the record player. But dropping the needle? He'd only ever watched Snape as he did it from a distance, never actually been shown how it was done.

"Show me?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at where Snape was sitting.

Snape snorted. The sofa creaked as Snape got up. Harry decided it was good the man sounded amused, and not an ounce cross. Then Snape was next to him, taking the arm from Harry's lax grip. "Slow and gentle, Potter," he said. "Turn it on first."

Harry flicked the button that set the record spinning. Snape nodded. "Then…" And he put the needle down, by the scratchiest part on the edge of the record. It took a few seconds before the music started. "You will want to make sure it is on the right setting here." Snape tapped a lever. Which he then pulled to the right.

It sounded like the smurfs, Harry thought, giggling to himself, rather than the manly Bruce Springsteen it was supposed to sound like.

Snape smirked briefly before switching the level back. "I expect you not to do that."

"But that's like telling me where the crisps are and then not letting me have any!" Harry protested.

"How old are you?" Snape asked, his tone equal parts incredulous and amused. Harry at once pouted. "I rest my case."

"Hey! I did that on purpose!"

"Which, again, is _very_ mature." The sarcasm was almost tangible. "Now, pay attention."

"Yes, sir."

"Spinning the record too fast will damage it. You do that with the singles. They are smaller and need to rotate faster." He waited for Harry to nod. "Good. Never drop the needle anywhere else but in the grooves."

"Okay," Harry said.

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay," Harry said firmly.

With quick and deft fingers, Snape turned the record off. "Let me see."

It was ridiculous, Harry thought to himself, heart in his throat. This wasn't even something to get worked up about in the first place! His fingers were just a touch unsteady as he took hold of the arm, switched the record player on, dropped the needle in the correct groove – it was the fifth song on the B-side he was after. But Snape was _right there_ , watching, waiting. Harry hated making the man disappointed, craved with an urgency that sometimes scared him to make Snape proud.

And, bloody hell, how careful he was not to figure out why that was.

"Did I do it right?" he asked once he was done fumbling and the upbeat melody was filtering through the air.

"Just right," Snape agreed.

Harry preened.

—x—

"Think you're ready for seventh years, yet, Potter?"

It was a week or two later. Harry didn't feel much different, but he wasn't as tired any more, nor was he cold for that matter. Some days, he was almost hungry. He wasn't sure why, precisely, because so much had happened. There was Zabini, who wasn't his boyfriend per se, but still someone he spent a lot of time with nonetheless. He had Tom, and the rest of the kids in Slytherin. There was Derek who he saw once every week. Snape was there to drop him off, and then there to pick him up again after each meeting.

And he had Snape. Harry still wasn't sure why Snape had come to be so important to him, but he was just as sure that he didn't ever want to be without him again, now that he'd had him. It was like before you knew him you didn't want anything to do whit him, but after you'd got to know him, you didn't ever want to be without out, ever again.

Snape was always there.

Harry stilled. "What d'you mean 'seventh years', Zabini?"

"Oh, exactly that." Zabini chuckled in his ear. "The girls don't really care; quite the aristocratic ladies, really, but three of the blokes were planning on showing up. Eventually." Zabini mouthed the words against Harry's neck, which made it bloody difficult focusing on a single word coming out of Zabini's mouth.

 _Scheming Slytherin_ , Harry thought to himself. "I see," he murmured. Then he sighed as Zabini added teeth to the lips already busy kissing his Adam's apple, mouth hot on his throat. "That's fine…"

It was a Saturday, curfew was hours and hours away. Harry stayed right where he was, between Zabini and the comfortable mattress Zabini had in his bed.

"I want to fuck you," Zabini told him.

It wasn't the first time he'd said it, either.

Just like it wasn't the first time Harry found something else, equally pleasing, for them to do. Yes, he was gay, and, yes, he had discovered after several pleasurable explorations with Zabini that he rather enjoyed sucking cock. But a prick up his arse? He'd rather wait until he didn't have to force himself to want it, and by default like it, as well.

He'd learned that lesson only too well, the hard way.

—x—

"You, _Mr_ Potter," Malfoy sneered, "are corrupting my Slytherins."

So much for making it out of the Slytherin common room undetected. Harry gave Malfoy a lazy grin. "Yeah? Why d'you say that?" Harry didn't really think he was doing anything at all to the Slytherins. Up until the point where Zabini and some of the other students in his year had begun showing up, Harry'd been the oldest kid there. In a way, his presence alone had made sure that the study nights had been able to continue for as long as they had. He was just there to supervise.

"It is very rude."

Harry shrugged, then made for one of the sofas littering the common room. The one he aimed for was placed just in front of the fireplace. Very nice, Harry decided as he leaned against the backrest, wriggling his toes in his trainers. He could feel them warming up nicely already.

"They all seem rather nice and polite, not rude in the slightest," he told Malfoy, who'd followed him over and sat down next to him on the sofa. "Well, maybe not all of them. Zabini's got quite the mouth on him. And Nott. And Parkinson, too, now that I think about it, and that one fifth year, Cavish, and the third year, Pritchard, and—" he babbled. It was warm, and he was tired.

"I get it," Malfoy snapped. He narrowed his eyes. The way they were blazing was most certainly not friendly. "If you leave them for the wolves,I will kill you, Potter, you understand?" he said, almost conversationally. The undertone was, on the other hand, fucking dangerous. Harry was much better at picking up undertones these days. Must've been all the time he'd spent with Derek, and now with Snape.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, "I know. And you'd have competition, too…but…I do worry, you know?"

"How do you mean?"

Harry glanced quickly at Malfoy, then stared fixedly at the fire. "What happens when the Gryffindors have enough of me running around the dungeons all hours of the day? What happens when one of them wakes up and—"

Malfoy's look was so incredulous that Harry felt another stab of betrayal. "I know," he whispered. "But…I have to hope."

"That they will ruin everything?"

Harry shook his head. "That they'll…stop hating me. I don't want to talk about that. But what I meant was that they could ruin so much. Most of the older kids were real hesitant in the beginning because I'm a Gryffindor. Tom and the other first years just wanted a bit help with their homework, or somewhere to play games away from their common room. But… 'Cause it's just I'm not really sure just how, um, how long the other Gryffindors will ignore that a Gryffindor's hanging out down here." He didn't want to consider that they'd forgotten he was a Gryffindor in the first place. That hurt too much.

Malfoy sneered. "Then that is what must be avoided, at all costs."

"Yes," Harry agreed. He wondered why Malfoy even knew all this. Why he was talking to Harry about it. Slytherins were all about _gaining_ something. Harry really didn't get what Malfoy hoped to gain by making sure the study sessions kept on being on-going.

Malfoy shifted on the sofa. Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It hung directly above the exit. Rather clever, he supposed, because you couldn't help but see the time as you went out. Curfew was in twenty minutes, then Snape'd come looking for him, as he'd threatened to do, once or twice, mostly in jest. For a short moment, he was tempted to stay out later, just to see if Snape really would come looking.

"I can't decide which one of you to warn." Malfoy's whisper startled him enough that he actually jumped.

"Huh?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Zabini, or you."

"Oh." Harry frowned. He wasn't really surprised that Malfoy knew, it was just… "How d'you mean?"

"Zabini, you see, is a valuable acquaintance of mine." Malfoy looked at him straight on. "On the other hand, so are you."

Harry grinned. "I see. And you can't decide which'll be more beneficial in the long run, right?"

This time, it was Malfoy who looked startled. Harry decided not to tell him that he'd been staying with Snape for several weeks by now.

"Yes, Potter. Exactly."

Harry looked serious again. "Why?"

"Then again, you're the soft hearted Gryffindor, tenacious though you are." Malfoy smirked at him. Suddenly, Harry was really sure Malfoy knew about Harry's eating problems, and probably more than that.

"Blaise Zabini is a Casanova, Potter. He wants his cock up your arse, and then he will find a new treasure to conquer."

Though the words hit him like icy water, it wasn't as bad as it could've been. It was just, Zabini hadn't exactly made a secret out of what he wanted. Harry just hadn't expected that was _all_ he wanted. Harry wasn't exactly in love, but by the way his heart was hammering, and his stomach felt awfully hollow… He'd probably invested more interest in Zabini than he'd thought. He wasn't sure, but had some small part of him depended on Zabini?

It was like Charlie Weasley all over again.

"I lost count of the number of people he lured into his bed last year. The notches on his top left bedpost are not there by accident, nor are they for decorative purposes." Malfoy was brutal in his absolute bluntness. "Do you understand?"

"More the novelty of having a Gryffindor in bed than me, right?" Harry muttered.

Malfoy winced, although he hid it well. "Yes," he simply said.

Harry sucked in a deep breath, then slowly let it out again. His hands were shaking. Inside, his stomach was rebelling the dinner he'd eaten hours before.

Why wasn't he ever good enough? Was there something hideously wrong with him that made people only able to stand him for short moments?

"Are you going to be sick, Potter?" The tone of Malfoy's voice told Harry more than he cared to know about just _how_ aware Malfoy was of his eating habits lately.

"I hope not," Harry whispered. "I finally put on some weight." And Snape had looked so _proud_ , so _pleased_ that Harry'd walked on clouds for the entire day.

"Good for you, Potter." Malfoy cleared his throat. "You weren't serious about him, were you?"

"No. Rebound, mostly." Even as he said it, he knew it was true. He hadn't given a thought to Charlie, or what they'd done until he'd told Derek all about it, and then only so he could have someone help him process it. But it probably wasn't too far from the truth to say that Harry had needed a tiny bit more than a casual, aloof, and entirely platonic, morning after. He'd needed far more than the absolute _nothingness_ he'd got so far. "Or, well. Just to see what it was I missed. I dunno, Malfoy. Zabini's fit, y'know?"

"I suppose."

On the wall, the clock chimed.

"You look as if you are about to be sick, Potter. Why?"

"Not really your business, is it?" Harry snapped, a bit more harshly than he'd intended. What the fuck kind of fucked up question was it anyway? He swallowed hard several times, feeling the nausea build. His mouth was full of saliva, his gums felt thick and heavy.

"Here." Malfoy shoved a glass of water at him.

Harry gratefully took small sip. Then another.

Then he shook his head.

Malfoy pulled him up and rushed him over to the nearest loo in no time. Which, it turned out, was just in time. He lost his dinner and what felt like half his stomach. By the time he was done, his throat was sore and his stomach was cramping. He hadn't been this sick in over two weeks.

Malfoy was by the sink, holding out the glass of water he'd conjured earlier.

"Thanks," Harry muttered. He rinsed his mouth several times, then cast the Mouth Refreshing charm he'd taught himself so many weeks ago.

"I can actually see your spine through your shirt, Potter."

"Shut up."

Harry straightened, fiddling with his jumper until it covered him properly again. It was Snape's, black, and too large. Harry loved it. What he didn't love, was how his reflection looked. He was way too pale and clammy. Harry turned on the taps, mixing the cold and warm water, then washed his face.

"Why?" Malfoy repeated his question from before. Harry contemplated feigning ignorance. In the end, he decided not to.

An eye for an eye, a truth for a truth. Silence was bought and heavily bargained for, not something taken for granted and freely given. Wasn't that how Slytherins played?

"When is Harry going to be good enough?" Harry asked, voice hushed.

Malfoy stared at him, his grey eyes flat. But he didn't answer, and Harry had hardly expected him to.

Harry splashed his face one last time, then turned the taps off with shaking hands. "How were you going to warn Zabini?" he wondered.

Malfoy shrugged as he handed Harry a towel. "I was just going to remind him how much is, currently, hinging on you."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better," Harry pointed out. His stomach remained calm, though. He sort of knew that had Malfoy said it before, just after he'd said what he had about Zabini, then it'd have been much worse. He sort of wanted to ask Maloy what it was that was hinging on him, but then he'd let Malfoy know that Harry'd no clue about the game Malfoy was currently playing, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to do that. It would sort of be like rolling over and exposing his stomach.

"You're not going to…?" Malfoy gestured at the rows of cubicles.

"No. I don't think so."

"Good. It is truly revolting."

Harry's laugh was hoarse. "'Course it is."

Harry was polishing his glasses when the door to the loo opened again. The towel was tucked under his arm, and his face was still wet round the edges. Even though Harry had automatically flushed the toilet and cast an Air Refreshing Charm just as soon as he was sure he wasn't going to be sick again, the air still held a faint undercurrent of vomit.

It was a first year, one of the boys Harry didn't know. Malfoy cast a glance at him, then gave the room a quick onceover. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Let's."

"You could refine your vocabulary, you know."

Harry ignored that by shrugging. And noticing the time. His stomach turned again.

It was half an hour after curfew. At least. "Oh, I'm so fucked," he mumbled to himself.

"Potter?"

"I have to go. I'll see you later, Malfoy."

"Potter!" Malfoy grabbed Harry by the arm.

"What?" Harry snapped.

"Calm down." Harry shot Malfoy an incredulous look. "Tomorrow, seventh years will show up. Accept them."

Harry just nodded, too distracted. He was out after curfew. Oh, Snape was going to be so disappointed! A claw of ice gripped his heart. Or what if he didn't want anything to do with Harry any more? What if he wasn't going to help him any more?

"I have to go," he said again, and wrenched his arm free. This time, Malfoy let him go.

Harry ran the entire way, his heart in his throat, hammering like mad. Snape's office was still a fair bit away. Harry could hear the minutes ticking off in his head, one by one. He was shaking so bad when he finally arrived at the familiar door that he could barely get it open, much less whisper his password to it. The door to the supply closet gave him similar problems, and then he was in the furthest corner of the dark room. He was breathing too rapidly by then, quick, shallow breaths.

"Salvation," he whispered. "Please." The door shimmered, and Harry stumbled right through it.

Snape was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. When Harry fell into his room, Snape was by his side in an instant. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

Harry's breath hitched. "What's wrong with me?" His eyes were stinging something horrible, his throat was aching so much it felt like he'd eaten sandpaper every time he swallowed. And Snape was _right there_ , his black eyes entirely focused on _him_.

"Where were you?" Snape said again. He didn't sound angry, not at all. A bit tired, maybe, and a fair bit exasperated. Maybe even a tiny bit worried. All bits of knowledge that Harry collected and guarded fiercely and jealously. _Someone cared_. It made him feel warm and wanted.

It made him feel even more upset than he already was.

"I was with Zabini earlier and then, after, Malfoy found me, and—" the tale tumbled from his lips. He was babbling, he knew that, but Snape still stood, listening, as if transfixed by the tale. "And, and…I was sick," he whispered.

"Potter—"

"I'm so sorry! I didn't meant to, but—"

"Of course you didn't, you stupid boy," Snape cut him off. Snape wrapped an arm round Harry's narrow shoulders, then steered him towards the sofa. Harry relished in the comfort Snape's arm gave him. He wanted to burrow closer, to feel the warmth all over him, feel protected and cared for and _wanted_.

Snape sat them down on the sofa, then wrapped Harry up in a large, fluffy blanket. But he didn't move away, so Harry awkwardly rested his head on Snape's bony shoulder. The arm round his shoulders never went away.

"Am I in trouble?"

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Snape said dismissively.

Harry frowned. "But am I in trouble?"

Snape smoothed a hand through Harry's wild hair. "Not as such," he finally relented. Harry felt himself relax even further.

"Good," he murmured. "'Cause I worried I was. Hate disappointing you."

"Shhh," Snape told him. Harry closed his eyes and smiled.

He was warm, comfy, Snape stilled cared about him. He felt happy.

"Tell me about Charlie Weasley," Snape said after a long moment of silence.

Harry yawned. "Okay," he agreed, and told Snape all about it.

"—Don't be angry, Snape. Please? We both did stuff we shouldn't have, but…I still like him, and he's gorgeous, you know?" Harry mumbled, only barely awake.

"He…is a Weasley," Snape said stiffly.

"Mmm. Redhead. Muscles. Freckles. Lots and lots of freckles." Harry let out an impish giggle. "S'got freckles even on his—"

"That's enough, Potter," Snape muttered.

"I was gonna say bum! Not—"

"Yes," Snape interrupted again, "I had surmised as much."

"Oh!" Harry giggled again.

Snape rolled his eyes. "I believe _someone_ is a little too tired."

"Mmmmm," Harry mumbled.

Snape began smoothing his hand through Harry's hair again. Harry sighed in pleasure, practically melting against Snape. "Did he force you?"

"Mm, no. S'just, I wasn't really ready for stuff like that. Couldn't even say out loud that I'm, y'know, gay until I told you. Charlie knew that. I knew that. We were just…not really right in the head. Felt good, were happy. Just…not the way it was supposed to be. Didn't feel good afterwards."

Snape's fingers scratched him behind his ear. Harry shivered and burrowed closer at the same time. "Mmmmm," he breathed. "S'nice…"

"I won't be required to castrate him, then?"

"Mm, no. Just tell him to owl me, and ask why he didn't owl, 'cause Derek says I'm worth the world and more."

—x—

The next morning Harry woke up confused. He was in his bed, but he couldn't remember how he got there. It was with equal parts peculiar embarrassment and a sort of joyful contentment that he realised he must have fallen asleep on Snape's sofa.

Fallen asleep _on Snape_. He felt his face grow hot at the same time as his belly squirmed with happiness. He burrowed further under the thick quilt, turning so he could curl up on his side. Snape must have made sure Harry made it to his bed. Had he carried him, or levitated him? Tucked him in? Harry smiled at his own silliness. He remembered now, past the first confusion of waking up, about what had happened yesterday. With Zabini, Malfoy, how he'd been sick and how he'd been late home, and then telling Snape about Charlie.

 _Home_. How long had he thought about Snape's flat as home?

For the first time in all the weeks since he'd stayed with Snape, a traitorous part of him, far more rebellious than his strongest defence, whispered that maybe, just maybe, this was what having a dad would be like.

—x—

"Potter."

Harry blinked. He was still busy thinking about Snape, and yesterday. There was a certain kind of thought that had wormed its way into his brain that he couldn't shake. He wasn't even sure he wanted to shake it. Would having Snape as his dad really be that bad?

"Potter," someone said again. Harry started and looked up.

"Yes?" One of the blokes who stood in front of him, the tallest one, smirked, while the other two merely stared blankly at him. It was probably the tall one who'd talked to him. "Oh. Hi. I'm Harry," he said, coming off as a bit redundant.

The tall boy sniggered. "Yes, Potter, we know who you are. I'm Nikolai Szmanda. These two are Alexander and Leonardo Maye."

"Hi," Harry said again. "Welcome." Normally, he would be sitting with Zabini. Today, he was sitting alone. It hurt a bit, that Zabini hadn't even needed him to break it off properly. "Do you want to sit?"

No, today Zabini was sitting with a busty fifth year. Jasmine Ivanov, if Harry wasn't entirely wrong. They'd arrived together, neither of them sparing Harry a glance, and promptly found a corner where they were at least partly obscured from the rest of the room.

"If you don't mind," Szmanda said. He sat down next to Harry, but the other two seventh years went off to find a table for themselves.

—x—

"You forgot your fruit today," Snape told him when he got home.

"No," Harry said. He was feeling awfully nervous, but he couldn't help but acting up.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape looked surprised.

"I said, no. I didn't forget it. I didn't feel like any, so I didn't take any."

Snape's eyes were narrowed. "You didn't _feel like any_?" Snape mocked him.

"Yeah!" Harry stood his ground, standing straight. It was only his shoulders, bowed inwards as if protecting himself, that belied his otherwise defiant stance. "You don't have any right to tell me what to do." He was almost convinced his tone didn't sound as waveringly confused to Snape as it did to him.

Snape just stared at him.

"How old are you, Potter?" he finally burst out, incredulous.

Harry blinked, feeling utterly confused. "I—I… What d'you mean?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "You stupid boy," he said. "Come here."

"No," Harry automatically protested.

When Snape raised an eyebrow, Harry sort of realised he'd stepped over the line, just a little bit. He was still feeling awfully nervous, and in a desperate need to test Snape. He was still feeling overwrought from the night before.

"Sir?"

"Sit next to me," Snape said.

Harry slowly made his way over, then sat down on the sofa next to Snape. Snape turned to him, and his eyes were just as warm and comfortable as Harry vaguely remembered them to be from yesterday. He felt even more confused, then, as he was suddenly very sure that it was exactly like that Snape had looked at him when he'd helped him into bed last night.

But Harry'd been asleep, hadn't he?

"I don't understand," Harry whispered to Snape. He was sure it wasn't the first time he'd told Snape that. "What's wrong with me?"

"I'm sure I have a list somewhere," Snape drawled. Harry's lips twitched at the attempt at humour. Snape quickly became serious again. "Why do you think there's something wrong with you, Potter?"

Harry fidgeted with his fingers, resting them nervously in his lap. "Why do I want to make you proud?" he forced himself to say.

Snape just looked at him.

Harry felt sick.

"I see," Snape eventually said, sounding to Harry a bit baffled. "Potter." Harry reflexively looked up at Snape. "I'm very proud of you. You've done very well, this term."

"I've been good?"

"Very good," Snape agreed.

Harry felt weak with relief. He was powerless to stop the huge grin from spreading across his face.

* * *

 **Back in a week as usual.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

It was in December, when Draco Malfoy finally decided to make an official appearance at Harry's little study meetings. Harry rubbed his eyes, then his temples. He'd been having headaches lately. Nasty ones that just wouldn't let up. The Slytherins were all suddenly sitting very still, hardly breathing or moving, and Harry wondered why for just as long as it took him to look up and spot Malfoy standing right in front of him.

"Oh. You," Harry said. "Hullo."

"Potter," Malfoy drawled, coming off quite haughty, "I trust I'm not unwelcome?"

"No."

"Good." Malfoy glanced about the room. Harry noticed how his eyes lingered a bit longer on Szmanda, still sitting next to Harry as he had since the first time he'd come. Briefly, Harry wondered if Szmanda collected notches on his bedpost the way Zabini obviously did. Harry decided it didn't really matter. He wasn't actually attracted to Szmanda the way he'd been to Zabini, so he didn't care.

"Take a seat, if you want."

"I believe I shall." Malfoy gave him another look, then went over to sit down with Parkinson and Nott.

"Peacock," Szmanda muttered next to him.

Harry stifled his laughter, but not his grin. "He's a Malfoy, what d'you expect?

—x—

When Harry came home that evening, he met McGonagall in the doorway.

"Mr Potter," she said briskly.

"Professor?" Harry'd never seen Snape have visitors. McGonagall looked him over, and whatever it was that she saw, it made her smile for some reason.

"Minerva, what is the— Potter."

"Hi." Harry smiled at Snape.

McGonagall glanced between the two, then her lips twitched into a smile as well. "Severus asked for your end of term report."

"Oh," Harry said, and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He'd tried hard this term to be prepared for his classes. What if Snape didn't think he'd been good enough? No one had really cared about his grades before. Well, his relatives hadn't liked when he got better grades than Dudley, but he was pretty sure that didn't count.

"There is only one minus, that I can see," his professor briskly continued.

"What's that, Professor?"

"I believe I will discuss this with him, Minerva," Snape smoothly intervened.

"Of course, Severus," McGonagall agreed. "Have a good night."

Severus nodded. "Likewise."

"Good night, Professor."

After she'd gone, Harry turned to Snape. His nervousness must have shown plainly on his face. Because all Snape did was tell him that tea was prepared and waiting by the fire.

"Sir?"

Snape looked amused. "Your grades were very good this term," he finally acknowledged.

"Really? I wasn't sure if it'd show, or maybe if you'd think I hadn't tried hard enough—"

"Potter." Harry closed his mouth. "You did your best. _That_ is good enough."

Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"However, just like Minerva intimated, there is one point that needs discussing."

Harry had a feeling he knew what it was, too. Out of all his classes, Transfiguration was the hardest one. For some reason, it was just harder being in a classroom with his former dorm mates, when it was McGonagall who was teaching.

"Your Transfiguration grades were abysmal at best."

"I'm sorry."

Snape waved his apology away. "Why?"

Harry bit his lip. "I can't concentrate. It's like, everything round me there is Gryffindor, and I keep remembering how they don't want me any more. I just can't focus. I do my homework, it's just that everything we do in class is never really anything good."

"Hmmm," Snape said. He didn't sound very surprised, Harry realised. But then, Snape had a knack of knowing stuff like that. "Minerva has made an excellent suggestion as to how we will raise your grade, Potter. I agree with her. I'm quite confident you will manage."

Harry was secretly thrilled that Snape believed in him, believed he could do something. "Really?"

"Have you ever considered becoming an Animagus, Potter?"

—x—

It felt strange. Really strange. But they needed somewhere else to be; the classroom, while certainly big enough, was hardly safe anymore. It'd become another of those open secrets that everyone at the school knew about. This had been Snape's idea, originally. Harry'd talked to Snape about it, about how some of the kids in Slytherin had overheard other students in the school talk about them. Only, their theories about what they got up to weren't nearly as innocent as the truth. The other students were all firmly convinced that the little study sessions and games nights were training sessions on how to become perfect little Death Eaters. It didn't really seem to matter to those students that not everyone who came to Harry's study nights were even all Slytherins any more. Yeah, most of them were but mixed in with all of the Slytherins, were the odd three or so Ravenclaws. First years, granted, but still not Slytherins.

So here they were, him and Malfoy, Parkinson and Nott. Harry'd wanted to go alone, but once Parkinson, somehow, got wind of what he was planning, well. Now there were four of them instead of just him. He was just glad Zabini wasn't there.

It was just… Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson all in one place without fighting or cursing? It felt bloody weird.

"This is unnerving," he heard someone mutter, but wasn't sure who. It wasn't just him, then.

A few minutes later, after they'd arrived at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Malfoy sneered, "Why are we in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Potter?"

Harry smiled. "Well, Malfoy, since you asked."

"Yes?"

Harry patted the sink he was leaning against. "This right here's the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets." They all gaped at him, then quickly tried to look bored and unconcerned again. "Now, I've only been there once, and, um." Harry cleared his throat. He pushed the memories of that time as far away as he could. "But I was thinking that if Slytherin really built this thing into Hogwarts, then maybe he made another entrance that led into the dungeons, right? I mean, that's always been Slytherin territory, right? And I just can't picture him going to the bathroom every time he needed to feed his pet basilisk, you know?"

"And why would he do something so obvious?"

"I was just thinking that maybe he did it just because of that. 'Cause it was too obvious. Sometimes, the best hiding spot's in plain sight."

"You have a point," Parkinson admitted. She glanced quickly at her fellow Slytherins. "The basilisk _is_ dead, right?"

"Sure hope so. It was stone dead, last I saw it." With that, Harry turned round.

The etching of the snake on the tap was exactly where he remembered it to be. With a low hiss, he opened the secret passageway.

The sink, the mirror, the wall. It all disappeared with a great rumble, leaving basically a large hole in the wall.

—x—

The basilisk was exactly where Harry had left it. He shuddered. It didn't even look like it'd rotted much, which even Harry noted as odd. They all were real careful to stay far away from it, though.

The Chamber of Secrets was huge. Really fucking huge. It took them the better part of that day to find another way out. Harry was just glad he'd remembered to pack something to eat with him. Not that he was feeling particularly hungry – that basilisk was enough to put anyone off food – but because they needed to keep their energy levels up.

"This would be a good place, if we can get rid of the basilisk."

"It's large." There were fireplaces along the walls, which would keep even this damp, cold cavern warm once they were properly stocked and kept burning. "If we place sofas and the workstations by the fires, there is still more than enough place for people to practice duelling, and such," Nott pointed out.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We'd just have to be careful not to be followed. Maybe have a password or something."

The corridor they were walking down was dark, cold and slippery. The only indication they had that it was actually leading somewhere were the snakes someone had carved into the walls, almost down by the floor. They were only on one side. Currently, they were glowing faintly blue.

When they finally reached the end, Harry found himself, along with the others, staring at a round circle carved on the wall. There was a three headed snake inside the circle, looking much more lifelike than a carved stone had any right to, Harry thought.

It was sleeping, all six eyes closed. Harry didn't like that the snake was guarding an egg.

"Um, hi?" Harry hissed.

The snake's eyes blinked. "You speaks," it told him, delighted.

"I do," Harry agreed. "Um, are you the way out?"

"Who asks?"

Harry blinked. The snake wasn't interested in his name, but, well. It wasn't like he actually was the Heir of Slytherin. "The ward of the Head of Slytherin," he said instead. That much, at least, was true.

The snake flickered its tongues. "You speaks true. Why do you seeks to pass?"

Harry wet his lip. "The Slytherins need sanctuary."

"We haves slept for a very long time," the snake hissed. Harry noticed it was only the head in the middle that talked. "Since the Master lefts us."

"A very long time," Harry agreed. "May we pass?"

The three heads regarded him again. Finally, the left and right heads nodded. "You mays," the head in the middle said. "Strokes my egg."

Bemused, Harry did as he was asked, then hurriedly stepped back as the wall rotated.

On the other side, Snape looked up. He was sitting behind his desk with a book propped up in front of him. Harry could see the surprise turn into shock, then transform into a kind of irritated bewilderment. Harry knew the exact moment Snape spotted him, because that was when Snape suddenly stood up, a single eyebrow raised.

Snape crooked a finger at him. "Come," he ordered, only uttering that one word.

It drew Harry over as if pulled by an invisible thread. "Oh," he said.

"Potter," Snape growled.

Harry hadn't really entertained the thought that the second entrance might lead straight into the Head of House's flat, sort of. A part of it, anyway. "Um. I found the other way?" Harry realised he was standing where the fireplace normally was. In Snape's office. Only, the fireplace had rotated as well and was now halfway inside the tunnel Harry had just come from.

"So I see," Snape murmured in that silky way that made you feel absolutely tiny and talk really fast at the same time.

"It was your idea," Harry suddenly felt necessary to point out. "D'you want to see it? There. Oh."

"What?"

Harry looked behind him, but he couldn't see his companions. Maybe they'd stepped back out of sight as soon as they could hear Snape's voice? "D'you know, there's a dead basilisk in there. Since my second year? It's hardly decayed or anything."

"A basilisk."

"Yeah. S'huge."

Snape stared at him, then at the hole behind Harry. Then Snape had his wand in hand and was locking his office for the day. Harry took that to mean he was coming with them.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Nott, Miss Parkinson," Snape called in a deceptively calm tone. He aimed his wand at the little blue snakes down by the floor. At first they merely pulsed, then they blazed with light and lit up the dark way much more clearly than they had before. "How curious to see you all here."

At first, they just stared at Snape, as if they didn't get how Snape could've seen them in the dark. Then Malfoy shrugged.

"Oh, you know how it is, sir."

"I'm not sure I do," Snape said shortly. The look he sent Harry told Harry the two of them would be having a long discussion later that day. "Well?"

"This way, sir," Harry said and went back inside the tunnel.

"Not so fast, Potter," Snape hissed in his ear. "You will close this door."

"I don't know how," he protested. "I only just got the snake to tell me how to open it in the first place!"

"Potter." Snape said his name once, and not even all that loudly.

"Yeah," Harry sighed.

The stone snake wasn't much more forthcoming now than it had been before. But eventually Harry found out that in order to close the door, such as it were, you had to tell the snake by the fire to close the doorway. Only, Harry couldn't recall ever seeing a snake there. Just as he slipped back out, he heard Snape call out for him.

"Potter!"

A moment later, and Snape was back in his office again. "Potter, what are you doing?"

"It said there was another snake out here that I had to tell to close the door. Hello?"

"Yes?" It was Snape, not the snake.

"Not you," Harry muttered, mostly to himself. "Hello," he said again, only this time picturing a snake in his mind. It took four more tries before he finally managed to slip into Parseltongue.

He thought he saw Snape shudder, but Harry ignored it.

From inside the fire, a tired voice answered. "Yes? Who speaks to Mas?"

"The ward of the Head of Slytherin," Harry explained again. "Could you please close the door after me?"

"Yes," the sleepy voice from behind the fire said again. "Mas wills close the door." Already, the stone was creaking as it turned.

Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the tunnel before Harry was caught on the wrong side of the doorway. "It's just like in Indiana Jones!" Harry exclaimed, smiling brightly. Derek had let him see it that summer, along with a few other films. Harry had liked them all.

"Yes," Snape said drily. "I trust there is not a faction of Nazis secreted away in here?"

Harry choked, then he laughed. "'Course not, sir. Just a big dead snake."

Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson were all a fair bit ahead of them by then.

"And how did you end up with this…motley crew?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure. Parkinson knew what I was up to, somehow."

"You had not discussed it with anyone?"

Harry frowned as he thought. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his aching temple. His headaches came out of nowhere, and hurt like you wouldn't believe it. "Well, I might've mentioned it to Szmanda, but I'm not really sure. Besides, he was one of the Slytherins who told me it was time to, you know, find something new. And that's when I talked to you about it, sir."

"I see." Snape placed a hand on Harry's neck. He uttered one word, that Harry didn't catch, but he caught the effects the word cause just fine. It was as if Snape'd given him the best massage in the world. All his muscles just relaxed. Harry hadn't felt this completely free of being tense since, well. He didn't know since when.

"Wow," he sighed in bliss.

"Headache?" Snape asked.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Harry admitted.

"You have been suffering from several lately," Snape stated. Harry felt a little guilty that he hadn't told Snape immediately about them. Mostly, Snape figured it out himself after watching Harry rub his eyes or his temples. Right now, Harry thought Snape sounded a tiny bit worried about it.

"Yeah, but I don't think it's because I haven't been eating."

Snape looked sharply at him. Harry coloured. "Oh, no. I mean, I have been eating, honest! I have. That's why I don't think the headaches have anything to do with it. I mean, didn't you hear when Pomfrey said I'd put on almost a kilo?"

"Half a kilo," Snape corrected, "And, yes, I heard her." Harry smiled.

The setback after Malfoy'd told him about Zabini had been unavoidable. It'd taken Harry almost two weeks before he'd felt he could accept, yet again, that some people were just after his fame. And then to start eating properly again. It'd been harder than he'd thought, at first. But he'd done it. Was doing it, slowly but steadily.

"Have you read through the books we discussed with regard to raising your Transfiguration grade?"

"Yeah. Mostly, I just skimmed through them, but I think I got the message."

"You need to do more than simply skim the texts, Potter."

"If you expect me to read them, then I won't be done until my birthday. I underlined the important bits and read them more closely. Promise, sir."

Snape's eyes felt heavy on him. But Snape hadn't found him lacking, yet, so Harry took the moment to glow. Snape's praise was rarely as outspoken as his anger, but it was there all the same. It wasn't easy, but Harry was slowly learning what to look for. Most of the time, he even got it right these days.

"Have you written to Mr Weasley?" Snape asked after a few moments of silence.

Harry's heart sped up a little. "No," he admitted. "You really think I should?"

"It would give you closure, I would think. The ball is in your hands, Potter," Snape murmured. "As your…"

"Yes?" Harry's heart was pounding. _As Snape's what?_

Snape cleared his throat. "As your adviser, I am convinced it would lift a great weight from your shoulders."

Harry grimaced at Snape's use of the word 'adviser', his heart twisting almost painfully. He was sure his disappointment could be clearly seen on his face. If Snape didn't think he was more than an _adviser_ , then clearly Harry was… He was a freak, wasn't he? For ever thinking Snape might be like a dad. A stupid bloody twat, an immature little _brat_. Clearly, he was just imagining things that weren't there.

"What is it?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Come on, the basilisk's just round the corner."

Snape wasn't anything like a dad at all, Harry told himself sternly. He ignored his stinging eyes and his pounding heart. He ignored the way he felt like he'd been kicked in the gut, and he refused to think about how sick he felt. Snape was his professor. Snape was just looking out for him because no one else wanted to at the moment. Snape was just doing what Dumbledore, most likely, had told him to do. He probably didn't like Harry at all, most likely he was just pretending to. Harry was just reading more into the situation than was really there. It wasn't Snape's fault Harry was mentally and emotionally unstable, after all.

"Potter—"

"It's right here." Harry wrenched his arm free from Snape's grip. He hurried his pace.

Malfoy, Nott and Parkinson were already in the large hall that was the Chamber of Secrets. They were standing by the large doors that led out. The doors had closed since Harry had opened them. Obviously, they didn't stay open forever, but closed automatically after a while.

The basilisk lay between the exit and himself. Snape, unfortunately, was right behind him. And Snape, unfortunately, had much longer legs than Harry.

"You will stay right here," Snape hissed in his ear, once again holding Harry's arm in a strong grip.

"You can't make me!"

"Oh, I can," Snape told him. "You will let Malfoy and his friends out of here, and then you will come right back here. Am I clear?"

"Yes, _professor_ ," Harry spat. He wrenched himself free, then stalked over to where Malfoy and the others were waiting by the door.

"Potter."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, then hissed, "Open," at the door. "Come on," he said shortly to the Slytherins, and walked out.

"What about Snape?" Parkinson wanted to know.

"I'm going back for him after I've let you out."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Harry could feel Malfoy watching him speculatively, but neither of them said a word about it. It wasn't until Harry had made the way back up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and was about to go back down again, that Malfoy spoke up.

"Theodore, Pansy, go back without me. I need a word with Potter." Seeing as the two of them had already been by the door, it didn't take all that long for them to leave.

"No, you don't," Harry told him, rather harshly.

"Yes, I do," Malfoy hissed at him.

"No—"

"You look as if someone killed your—"

"You just shut up!" Harry shouted. He whirled round and jumped back down the hole. "Close," he ordered it in Parseltongue. He got one last glimpse of Malfoy's furious face before the secret passageway closed itself again. Much to his disgust, Harry discovered his cheeks were wet when he landed at the end of the pipe he'd just slid down.

" _Fucking wank_ ," he muttered as he wiped his cheeks with hands that weren't nearly as steady as Harry wanted them to be. He was leaning sideways against the wall of the cave. His head was pounding again, as if Snape had never done that relaxation-thingy to his neck. Even his stomach was churning. But he wasn't going to be sick. Not this time. It was like, every fucking time he was upset these days, he was sick.

Yeah, he'd probably lose his appetite again, but just because he didn't feel like eating, that didn't mean he had to be sick, did it? Besides, if Snape didn't care, then it wouldn't matter if Harry stopped eating, right? Harry's breath hitched.

 _But Snape had looked so proud, hadn't he? When Harry finally managed go gain a little weight? When Harry managed to eat one bite more than he had yesterday? And hadn't he said that he was proud of Harry? That Harry'd done good? Been good?_

 _It couldn't all have been lies, could it? Snape wasn't that cold, was he? Wasn't that heartless?_

 _He wouldn't have said he cared, right, if he didn't mean it?_

 _All the others did, Harry suddenly realised. All the others who he'd always thought were his friends, people he'd liked and respected and cared about… They wouldn't even look at him, now. Ginny had been sort of spying on him, hadn't she? And Ron and Hermione had broken off their friendship with him without ever telling him why. The only Weasley who'd actually still talked to him was Charlie, and Charlie wasn't someone Harry'd talked to before last summer, or since, for that matter. Dumbledore was still ignoring him. Fuck, his entire House was ignoring him. Worse, even, since they'd actually pushed him out entirely._

 _Sirius was dead. He hadn't heard from Lupin since last summer. Mr and Mrs Weasley had all but disappeared._

 _And hadn't he seen for himself how awful his Dad and his friends had been to Snape when they'd been kids? Maybe this was all some sort of evil plan to get even. Maybe Snape wanted to get back at James and Sirius and the others?_

 _He didn't have anyone, did he? Harry realised he was suddenly utterly alone. He didn't have a family – his own relatives didn't want him – there was no one else. He was…alone. Even Snape—_

Harry couldn't breathe.

There was a dark, calm voice in his ear, telling him to relax, to breathe. Harry realised with a sense of rising panic that he hadn't been breathing properly for quite some time. His lungs were burning and his vision was spotty. Snape was holding him, was talking to him.

Snape was stroking his hair.

—x—

When Harry woke up, he was lying on something black, but hard as rock. His head was resting on something warm, but rather soft if still firm. The world around him was a big blur.

"Harry," Snape said. Harry's glasses were gently placed on his face. "Are you well?"

Harry blinked once, twice. It was all back, now, the hurt in his heart and the gaping loss in his stomach. It wasn't exactly made better by Snape calling him by his given name or the way he was acting like he actually cared. "Hmmm," Snape said.

Harry turned on his side so he didn't have to look at Snape. "Did it feel good?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Did what, exactly?" Snape's voice sounded confused.

"Making me think you cared when you really just wanted to get even with m'Dad," Harry told Snape slowly. His voice was even, though his breath hitched a little at the end. Harry could feel Snape's thigh tense under his head.

"Harry—" Snape began, his tone awfully cold.

"Just shut up!" Harry snapped. He would've got up and stormed away, but his head was aching something awful. "Don't call me Harry as if—"

Snape placed a cool hand over Harry's brow, then tugged him over until Harry was lying flush on his back again. Snape didn't have his robe on, Harry noticed, realising that must be what was covering the ground under him. "Of course I care, you stupid boy," Snape told him slowly, voice exasperated. "What man wouldn't?"

"Lots, apparently!" Harry cried. "I wasn't good enough for the Weasleys, or Dumbledore. Lupin hasn't written even once, my relatives couldn't wait to chuck me off! Charlie didn't write, Zabini just wanted—"

Snape's hand gently closed Harry's mouth. Harry was so shocked he actually let the man do it. "Now, Potter, while that question was rhetoric, I do appreciate the answer. It does explain quite a lot."

"Oh." It did?

"You are a very precious boy." Snape's face looked as if he'd sucked a lemon. Expect for his eyes. His eyes were intent and focused just on Harry. Snape wasn't a very demonstrative man in that sense. But he'd said that he cared more than once, now, and it made Harry feel all warm inside to hear. Harry so much wanted to believe him. He just…

…he just wasn't sure if he was brave enough to do it.

"In my opinion, it's their loss, and my gain." Snape's gaze was thoughtful. He began stroking Harry's hair. "I understand that this past term has been difficult for you. You have demonstrated admirable strength, Potter, and courage to get through it."

Harry closed his eyes. He was feeling very warm now, and sleepy. It occurred to him for a moment that maybe he should be worried about how abruptly his mood had changed as of late. It seemed he went from one extreme, to the other.

"Now."

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you take such offence when I referred to myself as your adviser?"

"Derek's my psychologist," Harry stalled. "You're not."

"So what am I?" When Harry didn't answer, Snape sighed. "Don't bite your lip, Potter." At once, Harry realised he'd been worrying his bottom lip with his teeth while he thought about how to answer Snape's question. He didn't want to tell Snape, not really, because telling Snape would make it real.

Harry wasn't sure if he was ready for that. He wasn't even sure if he really wanted it to be real, either.

"I do believe, however, that you put too much weight into the way words are used. You can be entirely too literal, Potter."

"Are you telling me I should read between the lines more, sir?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. I'm sure you know some words are harder to express than others?"

Harry just smiled wryly. "Yeah, I guess I do know that."

"The basilisk can wait until tomorrow," Snape told Harry as he helped up on his feet. "I believe we have had enough excitement for one day."

—x—

"Have you made plans for Christmas, Potter?" Snape asked.

They'd just had dinner. Harry was even feeling comfortably full. Could be, of course, because Snape'd let him decide what to eat tonight. Mostly Snape just ordered up a variation of whatever they were having in the Great Hall when they ended up eating at his flat, but not this time. Harry'd taken the opportunity to order up chips and mushroom pie and a big salad that had practically every kind of vegetable he knew in it, and olives. It had been delicious.

Harry wasn't quite prepared for the question, so he just shrugged. "I normally stay here," Harry said. "Why? Are you going…away? I don't want to be alone—" Snape stared at him. Harry squirmed. "I mean, I don't… I mean, couldn't I come with you, maybe?"

"Perhaps," Snape continued, "it's time you told me about your relatives, Potter."

Harry blanched.

"Your Uncle and cousin are overweight, that much I have surmised."

"Derek knows," Harry protested. "Isn't that enough?"

"Probably," Snape surprised him by agreeing. "But I'm not him. _I_ don't know. There was a cupboard, yes?"

Occlumency, Harry realised. Snape probably knew more than Harry wanted him to, already. "They…don't want me. I don't think they ever did. It was all I heard, growing up, how much they didn't want me there. How I was a freak. Aunt Petunia especially always hated that she had to raise me. So…so she made me their House elf. I basically did everything. They kept me in the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven."

Snape was staring at him, his dark eyes cold. "I see," he murmured.

"What?"

"Petunia was…" Snape snorted. He shook his head.

"You know her?"

"Not by choice," Snape muttered. "I guarantee you."

"How?" Harry floundered. "Why?"

Snape looked away. His face was awfully tense, Harry noticed. "Snape?"

"I knew you mother."

"You went to school together," Harry filled in. "You called her—"

"Don't!" Harry snapped his mouth shut. "Do you realise, that was the worst your father ever hurt me?"

Harry just blinked, feeling utterly confused and lost. "I don't understand."

Snape ran a hand through his hair. It looked like he hadn't washed it for a while again. "I met Lily when I was a boy, Potter. Long before Hogwarts. She was my best friend, until your father took her from me."

"But—"

"My _best friend_ , Potter. I was a Slytherin, no more pleasant than I am today. Your mother was the most brilliant, beautiful witch in the school. James Potter and his cronies couldn't stand the thought of Lily choosing my company over theirs." Snape was looking at him now. He looked tired, Harry noted. His eyes were dark and…sad, almost. "I was poor, ugly and a greasy Slytherin—"

"You're not!" Harry protested. It was suddenly very important to tell Snape that Harry didn't think he was. "You're—"

"Potter."

"Well, you're not," Harry protested one last time, only a lot more quietly and defiantly. Snape rolled his eyes.

"In our fifth year, your father decided that he wanted to have your mother. Whether he was truly in love with her yet, or just wanted to brag that he'd her, I don't know. What I do know is that, in their eyes, I was more in the way than I had been before. To them, it was my fault that your mother couldn't stand the sight of your father. The scene you witnessed in my pensive was hardly a lone occurrence."

Harry looked down at his hands. "I think you're brilliant, too, sir," Harry whispered.

Snape let out a loud exasperated sigh. "Did you listen to a word I was just saying?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry sullenly agreed. "Honest. Dad was a pillock until seventh year, Lupin and Sirius told me that. You and Mum were friends until she…" Harry felt suddenly cold inside. "She chose Dad over you, didn't she?"

"Essentially," Snape said shortly. "Your father wasted no time telling me as much."

"And then you became Death Eater."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Not quite as simple as that, perhaps." Snape narrowed his eyes, then he smirked. "It suddenly occurred to me…"

Harry had a bad feeling about this. A Very Bad Feeling. "What?" He almost didn't dare ask.

The smirk curling Snape's lips turned decidedly evil. Harry shuddered. "I changed your nappies, Potter," he said darkly.

For some unknown reason, Harry flushed bright red. "Snape!" he squeaked.

"Oh, I did. Several times, now that I think about it. You were always overjoyed about it, too. As I recall, once you started walking, one of your greatest pastimes was removing your clothes entirely and then run away to hide behind the curtains. Or wherever else your miniature mind believed we could not possibly find you." Snape chuckled. "I wonder if there are pictures—"

"You wanted to know about me and Malfoy, right?" Harry blurted out, almost desperate in his need to change the subject. Snape knowing those things about him, the potential of more blackmail-worthy evidence lying about, half-forgotten in one of Snape's drawers? Oh, no, Harry so didn't want to know.

The glint in Snape's eyes told Harry that he was see-through, but Snape let it pass. "I did, yes."

So Harry told him. "—that's why I asked, remember, that time? If he could be trusted. And, you know, I reckon it's really Malfoy who's behind it, all the study sessions and stuff. Or at least supporting it, somehow."

"You might be right," Snape conceded. "Don't for a minute think he is trustworthy, Potter. Malfoys play games. Casualties are part of those games. Likely, it is more profitable for him at the moment to side with you."

—x—

It wasn't until much later, when he was on the brink of sleep as he lay in bed, that Harry realised he hadn't thought to ask why Snape had changed his nappies, as it were. If Snape and his Mum stopped being friends, then why had Snape even been there? And, he realised, he did want to know more about when he was little. If just to, you know, know that he'd been happy, once, when he was little.

Not just alone, unwanted and hurt. But someone's precious baby.

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Snape woke Harry early the next day. Hair tousled, eyes bleary, Harry yawned through the motions of getting up and dressing himself.

"M'not hungry," he mumbled to Snape when he was directed towards the table where a bowl of sweetened porridge waited for him. "Too early."

"Just a little," Snape ordered anyway.

Harry yawned.

When Snape urged him to move again, Harry had managed almost half the portion. "Brush your teeth, boy." Harry nodded and did as told.

"Time's it?" Harry asked when he'd brushed his teeth. His eyes still felt as if they were glued together in sleep.

"Four thirty," Snape answered him promptly. Harry blinked. "Come, the basilisk beckons."

Harry shook his head. "Sleepy," he told Snape. He had already turned around and was half lying on the sofa, a blanket clutched in one hand when Snape turned around to see what Harry was doing.

"Oh, no, Potter," Snape murmured in his ear and tugged him up on his feet again. "Very good. Come now."

Harry nodded. "Your good boy," he agreed.

"Indeed." Snape's lips were twitching as if he were supressing a smile. Harry was still holding his blanket tightly. "You are going to open the secret door in my office, Potter, and we are going to visit the Chamber of Secrets again."

"Like, special mission?"

"If you like."

"M'kay," Harry yawned.

So Harry asked the snake in the fireplace to turn the fireplace, then asked it to close after Snape and him were through. He was still tired, and his feet weren't quite cooperating with each other. After he'd stumbled one time too many, he felt Snape's arm come round his shoulders. Harry closed his eyes and rested his head on Snape's shoulder. They stopped walking. Harry felt Snape tug on the blanket in Harry's hand, then it was being tucked around him like a warm cloak. They started walking again, and Snape's arm was still holding him safely.

When they reached the Chamber, Snape stopped. He transfigured a shoddy sofa. Harry was curled up on it in a flash. "Mmmmm," he mumbled.

"Yes, I imagine it is," Snape agreed. Harry felt the blanket being tucked over him, then felt the warming, comfortable sensation of a gentle Heating Charm being placed on the sofa.

—x—

Harry wasn't sure how long he slept before Snape woke him up again. He felt confused and disorientated for a short moment, before he remembered where he was.

"Lunch, Potter."

"Time's it?"

"Eleven."

"Oh."

Harry also remembered Snape's evil machinations that had woken Harry up at _four bloody am_. He scowled. "Why the fuck couldn't you wait 'til now like a sane person!" he growled at Snape.

Snape smirked. "I prefer to harvest potions ingredients early in the morning."

"It was in the middle of the night!"

"If you say so." He didn't sound at all as if he agreed. Snape sat down in the sofa he had transfigured. "I brought some sandwiches for us. Chicken or quorn?"

Harry glared. "Chicken," he eventually answered.

"I also have some lentil soup."

Harry paused in the process of unwrapping his sandwich. "Can I have that instead?" Snape's lentil soup was fab. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever eaten it before he moved in with Snape, but the man had made him try it once. After that first time Snape had forced it on him, Harry hadn't exactly needed to be convinced to eat it again. There was spinach in it as well, he knew, and probably garlic, if Harry wasn't completely off. But it was warm and filling. "Please, sir?"

"Very well." Snape produced a thermos from the canvas bag by his feet. Next came out two bowls and spoons.

"It's spinach, right?"

"Not this time."

"I like the one with spinach."

"You like this one as well."

Harry blinked. The soup itself didn't look different from the other times he'd eaten it. "Oh." He took a cautious sip, loved the taste as he always did, and shrugged. "S'good."

When he was done eating the soup, his stomach felt very warm and full. Eating so soon after waking up from a glorious nap had made him sleepy again, but if he stayed up and didn't lie down, he probably wouldn't fall asleep. He yawned, then cleaned his utensils with a flick of his wand.

"Are you going to eat your sandwich?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Your soup wins every time. I'm totally full."

"Very well." Snape carefully packed the used bowls and spoons back down in his bag, then did the same with the sandwich Harry handed him. "Are you able to assist me now?"

"Slicing up the basilisk?" Harry considered the question, then shrugged. The snake was dead and couldn't possibly hurt him now.

Snape glared at him. "We do not _slice_ , Potter. You may, on the other hand, remove its teeth. I will provide you with gloves."

Harry sat very still.

"Potter?"

"It bit me, you know." Harry rubbed the spot on his arm where the basilisk had bit him. He still felt it, sometimes. How it'd burned through his veins like ice and fire at the same time. "Fawkes saved me." There was a still a nasty scar, despite the healing properties of the phoenix's tears. Guess it showed just how corrosive and lethal the venom of a basilisk truly was.

"I have already removed the venom sacks," Snape murmured. He placed his hands on Harry's arm. "May I see?"

Harry nodded. Snape pushed up the sleeve of Harry's jumper. There was a roundish scar on Harry's lower arm. Snape rubbed over it with his thumb. "This could have killed you."

 _Should_ , Harry filled in, _it should have killed him_.

"I know."

Snape muttered something then that almost sounded like, _what was the old fool thinking?_ Harry wasn't sure, though.

The rest of the day was, much to Harry's surprise, rather pleasant. He helped Snape chop up the basilisk – dissect, Snape insisted, not _chop_ or _slice_ – until all that was left was a pile of charred flesh. The skeleton, the teeth, the venom sacks, the scales and what had been left of its blood and organs had all been carefully harvested. Snape had even managed to collect the basilisk's spinal fluid.

With an unfamiliar incantation and wand movement, Snape set the pile of flesh on fire. It was the only part of it that was completely worthless, Snape had told him.

—x—

Glad for the reprieve it being a Sunday gave, Harry spent quite some time pottering about in the attic above the seventh floor once they came back from the Chamber. He'd only been there for a short visit, once, but it'd been enough time for him to discover that there was loads of stuff up there. A lot of which would look really good in his room. It wasn't that he didn't like what he had, or that he thought Snape was shoddy at decorating, because that wasn't the point.

It was Harry's _room_. _His_. And Snape had told him to do this weeks ago, but Harry'd always put it off, for some reason or other. Until today. Why today, he had no idea, except that it felt right, somehow.

He found himself a gorgeous roll-top desk. Not one of the huge, bulky things he'd seen in films, but a smaller one with only drawers down one side instead of both. If he felt like being secretive – or just to hide his mess from Snape – he could just roll the top down and cover up the incriminating evidence. It was made of a dark wood, covered in scratches and marks, very clearly having once been used for a very long time. With a grin, Harry shrunk and pocketed it.

It wasn't exactly like he'd come up to Hogwarts' attic with a plan. So Harry spent a couple of hours scouring the large room for anything that struck his fancy. He came away with more oil lamps than he could possibly use, but he hadn't been able to put them back once he'd picked them up, so he'd bagged them all. He was particularly fond of the one that looked like a sphere of faintly shimmering glass, with a dragon in some kind of metal stretched out over it, partly holding the glass sphere in place. It even came with a friend, portraying a phoenix instead. Then there was the armchair. It was deliciously soft, feeling as if you'd just sunk into it instead of just sitting down. It was purple, had lion feet in dark wood, and one dark green armrest. He wasn't even sure if he could fit it in his room, but he was bloody well going to try. The chair he'd found for his desk was made from a light wood, and had a large, bulging cushion. He found a bedside table that looked like it had been carved out of rock. It was so black, it looked like it ate light. Harry was firmly convinced the dragon and phoenix lamps would look absolutely fab on it. The large armoire he'd found – it was freakishly _huge_! – he planned on modifying further when he came home. If his calculations were correct, it and the desk would just precisely manage to squeeze in next to each other up against the wall. The armoire was just as shabby as the desk, only blue, so the scuffmarks looked sort of dignified to Harry.

The second he got home, he disappeared into his room. He left the door open so that he could levitate the furniture he didn't need any more out into the sitting room. The sitting room that was growing increasingly more cramped, thanks to all the extra furniture now littering the floor.

" _Potter_!"

There was a crash, then Harry poked his dusty nose out from his room. "I'm redecorating!"

With a sigh, Snape carefully maneuverer his way around, only to be blocked two feet inside Harry's room by a massive armoire. That was levitating. It moved wobbling through the air, slowly turning. It met the wall on the short side of the room with a dull thud, then landed with a much less muted crash. Harry was already pushing the desk in place, smiling with satisfaction at the – narrow – _perfect_ fit.

"Yes! Look, sir; it's perfect!"

Snape's lips pursed as he surveyed the state of the room. "And the rest of it?"

Harry grinned. "I know exactly what to do! The chair goes in front of the desk, see? And I thought I could put the armchair next to the door, on your left, right? And the bedside table—"

"Next to the bed, perhaps?"

"Yeah, exactly. I've got it all under control, trust me."

"Yes," Snape agreed, "That is the most worrying part. A Potter decorating…" He shook his head. "And what do you intend to do with my sitting room?"

"Oh, um, nothing. I'll fix it as soon as I'm done here." Harry was wrestling with one of the doors on the armoire. One already stood on the ground next to him. The doors had been positioned next to each other vertically, with three drawers at waist height between them, and were rather narrow. There were large, taller, doors on either side, both closed, and both with two drawers underneath them.

Snape shook his head, backed out, and silently closed the door.

"Ha!" Harry cried triumphantly as the door gave in and came loose. Snape was already forgotten. He waved his wand, and his books came flying, all inserting themselves neatly wherever they fit best on the empty spaces. The phoenix oil lamp went in as well, on the shelf with the highest space upwards. Harry cast a protection charm anyway, just to be safe.

The armchair was easily moved into position, a hanging oil lamp fastened to the ceiling above it, another fastened to the wall. Two lamps were positioned on the wall above his desk, a stationary one with a handle made of black iron put on the top of his desk. There were three lamps, all designed to hang from the ceiling, and he fastened them in a semi-circle right in the middle, dangling from different heights.

The top of the desk was rolled up, quills and ink and parchments, even a book or two, was carefully placed on it. He even pulled a tiny drawer out to place his inkwell on, then an old jug next to it that he stuffed his quills in. His practice Snitch went on top of the desk, as did the one framed photo he had of his parents

It wasn't until it came to the unpacking of his trunk and hanging up his clothes that he paused. The entire term, he'd either only worn school clothes, or robes, often both at the same time. Since staying with Snape, he'd nicked some of his clothes, mostly jumpers and thick, woolly cardigans that he'd never seen than man wear anyway.

The clothes left in his trunk were Dudley's old cast-offs. There was _no way_ he was hanging those up in his _new_ armoire in _his own_ room.

The decision of what to do, he realised, was quite simple.

"Snape!"

"What?"

"I need help!"

It took some time before the door opened. Maybe the old furniture was more in the way than he'd realised?

"Yes?" Snape leaned on the door, one hand still on the handle.

Harry cleared his throat. "You, um. Asked about the Dursleys." He cleared his throat again, then toed his trunk. "They, um, didn't buy me clothes."

"Something you choose to not to mention, I see."

Harry shrugged. "Um. 'Cause I did have clothes. They were just…old and didn't fit. But, then, as I was packing up just now, I realised…"

"That they were neglecting you? Yes."

Harry shrugged. "Not really. More that I didn't want them any more. I need to go shopping. Somewhere Muggle. So, maybe next time I see Derek, I could go to a shopping centre afterwards."

"Not Wizarding?" Snape walked over to the armoire. The doors were open on both sides, even though Harry had hung his school clothes on the left, which was almost all he had once he tossed out Dudley's rags.

"I have robes already, I want jeans and T-shirts—"

"—and jumpers of your own, perhaps? This is mine, if I recall correctly." Snape pointed at the jumper hanging neatly, almost alone, on the right side. "As is the cardigan you're wearing." Snape gave him a darkly amused look. "In case you were under the misapprehension I hadn't noticed."

Harry grinned, not at all remorseful. "Oops?"

—x—

Later that night, after dinner, Harry slumped on the sofa, flexing his toes. Snape was sitting in an armchair across from Harry, reading a thick book about something Harry couldn't understand – the title wasn't even in English. "Are there eye doctors in the Wizarding world? Special ones, I mean, like opticians? Or is any Healer as good as the other?"

"There is. Why?"

"Just thinking maybe I should go see one. Pomfrey's been on me about that. Especially since last time, what with my left eye getting worse. I think maybe that's what the headaches are about, you know?" Harry clenched his toes, heard them popping. "And I've been reading about the Animagus Transformation, too. I actually tried meditating about it yesterday. I'm not sure if it worked, 'cause I kept dreaming about chasing squirrels in trees, then eating mice and being petted."

The dream had taken _quite_ a different direction after that.

There was a vague sound of agreement from Snape.

"Snape?"

"Yes?"

Harry poked him with his toe. "Are you listening?"

"Naturally."

"So…you think I should get a tattoo, then?"

Snape's looked up, rather slowly, a single eyebrow raised.

Harry winked. "Just checking."

"Mmmhmmm. Fetch tea, boy."

Harry thought of protesting, then realised he was feeling like a cuppa anyway, shrugged and headed off for the tiny kitchen. He could've ordered up a tea set from the Hogwarts' kitchen, but doing it himself, the Muggle way, felt better.

—x—

Snape had talked to Pomfrey, who had called someone in from St. Mungos so fast Harry was convinced she had been about to do it regardless whether Harry asked her to or not. The examination was somewhat harmless and relatively quick. The Healer, a _way_ too perky newly graduated young man by the name of Burke, had asked a lot of questions.

"—and I've been having headaches, just behind my eyes and it just feels…like something's strained."

"Mmmhmm," Healer Burke clucked. "I see. When was your last sight examination?"

"Well, I mean, Madame Pomfrey's checked it out at least once a year, but other than that… Muggle primary school?"

Healer Burke's lips tightened slightly. "I see. Close your eyes." Obediently, Harry did. Burke had been surprisingly nice, for a doctor. He had much softer hands than Pomfrey, too, which might've had something to do with Harry complying so quickly. Burke touched his eyelids, fingers light as feathers.

"Here, and here." Burke applied the slightest pressure. "The spell I am about to use will hit those spots. Some feel a burn."

"Okay," Harry whispered.

"Good."

When the spell came, Harry flinched. It _burned_ something awful. "Ow!"

"Did it hurt?" The fingers were back, cool and soft, prying Harry's fluttering eyes open. His eyes continued to flutter, instinctually trying to close. "Try to keep them open, Harry."

"Doesn't want to," Harry mumbled.

"I know. Tilt your head back. There, just like that. Very good. I will apply a potion. You may remember the Muggle doctors doing something similar."

"Hurt my eyes in the light."

Burke laughed. "This won't."

Burke helped him keep his eyes open as he dropped a single drop of a clear potion down into his eyes, one at a time. "Now blink as much as you like."

Harry did, even kept his eyes closed for as he could get away with. His eyes felt swollen and sore.

"It seems you're having a slight adverse reaction to the potion, Harry. It will make things a little harder, but it shouldn't harm you in the long run, do you understand?"

Harry pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Snape?"

"Healer Burke is essentially correct, Potter," Snape drawled from the chair he was sitting in next to Harry's bed. "Proceed."

"See, Professor Snape agrees." Burke sounded as if he was laughing.

"You were a Slytherin, weren't you? This is a Slytherin conspiracy."

Burke definitely laughed, then. "Can you open your eyes now, Harry? There are only a few steps left, and then we are done with the examination, and Professor Snape can provide you with the correct anti-allergy agent. Then you can visit my partner's shop and find yourself a new pair of glasses."

A new question occurred to Harry. "Is it expensive?"

"I suppose that's—"

Snape spoke up, neatly silencing Burke. "Christmas is near, isn't it?"

"Snape—"

"As I understand it, I've quite a number of years to make up for."

Harry felt his ears turn hot. He wanted to duck his head, but couldn't because Burke was holding his face up, attaching a metal piece of spindly equipment across his face. There were holes just in front of his eyes, which Burke was now busy sliding pieces of glass into. A warm feeling spread under Harry's breastbone.

 _Years to make up for_.

Did that mean Snape wanted him…like Harry wanted him? Wanted Harry as something more…permanent than a student Snape was temporarily allowing into his flat, his home – his life? Harry couldn't stop the shy, elated smile from curving his lips.

Burke smiled back; he was, after all, standing straight in front of Harry, then said, "There, Harry. I want you to tell me which colour is more clear—"

—x—

Harry had wanted to rush off to London that very same afternoon, after the examination, but Snape had put a stop to that. Instead, they had waited for the weekend – and the start of the holidays. Tom hadn't been exactly pleased with Harry's decision to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, but, well.

Harry wanted to be with Snape. He still wasn't sure what the plans Snape supposedly had were, but Harry was kind of hoping that if he was just tenacious enough, then maybe Snape wouldn't toss him out on his ear. That, and Harry was sort of hoping, too, that the almost three weeks off from school would reveal once and for all if Snape and him could get along long enough to, to bond.

Like…family.

Anyway, Derek had promised to explain a bit about that to Tom, which was only too well because Harry'd a feeling he'd only have mucked it up otherwise.

So, dressed as Muggles, Harry and Snape tackled shopping in London, at Christmas time. It was…chaotic.

"What are all these people doing?"

Snape snorted. "What every other insane person is doing at this time of year, Potter: buying gifts and tinsel."

They were currently, after only two hours out 'in the field' as Harry felt tempted to call it, safely ensconced in a small café. Snape was drinking 'flavoured coffee' – whatever that meant – and Harry had given in to the slightly childish urge and ordered a large cup of hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows.

"Tinsel?"

"And baubles. Tinsel and baubles. Have they not heard of the concept 'reusing'?"

Harry shot Snape what he thought was a rather discreet look. It must not have been very discreet, though, because Snape groaned.

"You want a tree, don't you?"

Harry smiled. "And tinsel and baubles and lights and boughs of holly. And, um, stockings."

Snape rubbed his forehead. "Very well," he sighed. "I suppose I can stand the baubles and tinsel."

"Not the other stuff?" Harry frowned a little. He didn't want to be greedy or ungrateful, but—

Snape took a sip of his coffee. "I have the 'other stuff' every year, Potter. I am not a Scrooge, contrary to popular belief."

"Oh. That's great, Snape!" Harry grinned. "I've never decorated a tree before, but I've always wanted to. I used to watch from my cup— Um. I mean—"

Snape's look was dark. "Rest assured, I shan't lock you in a cupboard, Potter. Not even if you stick tinsel to my walls with permanent Sticking Charms."

Harry's grin was only a little self-conscious. "That'd be hard, since I'd have to move the bookshelves first, and—"

"—They're stuck to the walls with permanent Sticking Charms already, I know." Snape smirked. "However, I wouldn't put it past you to succeed. If only because of your sheer stubbornness."

Harry laughed. "Right, 'cause that's my mission in life."

"To cause me undue pain and suffering through your harebrained stunts? Yes, I do quite think it is."

Harry nudged Snape with his shoulder. "That would make me supremely intelligent, though, wouldn't it?"

"Hmmm, yes, perhaps not," Snape agreed, sounding greatly amused.

"Oy!"

Snape smirked.

"So…when are we gonna get a tree? Can we do it today, after we get back?"

"Tomorrow. Ah!" Snape objected as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "We'll find one in Hogsmeade tomorrow. You can spend all afternoon decorating it to your heart's content."

"You'll help, too, right?"

Snape blinked, then inclined his head. "If you wish."

Harry nodded firmly. "I do. Definitely. It'll be like a proper Christmas, then."

Snape's gaze turned considering. "Proper?" he wondered. "Yes, I suppose it will be."

That afternoon, Harry came home with the receipt for a pair of shiny new glasses. The glasses in question fit, were the correct prescription and balanced out the much weaker vision he had in his left eye. The only downside was that he hadn't actually found any new clothes. Well, that was a bit of a lie, because he had, just not as many as he'd hoped.

The queues had been way too long. After having visited one or two shops, the prospect of standing in yet another queue had been rather unattractive. But he had managed to find a pair of jeans, a couple of new T-shirts and a new pair of trainers. Snape had grumbled about the last purchase not being suitable for winter wear, but Harry'd shrugged him off.

It was his money, and his choice.

Oh, right. _Snape_ had paid for his glasses.

Harry felt…happy and uncomfortable and _warm_ about it all at the same time.

Teachers didn't buy you glasses, did they? Or bought lunch and books for you, did they? Granted, it had been fictional Muggle novels, but Harry had been fully prepared to pay for them, when Snape had sneakily paid for them behind Harry's back.

The moment Harry was alone in his room, the door shut behind him, he broke out in a brilliant grin.

—x—

"There you are. I was afraid I would have to go tree-hunting alone."

Harry froze in the doorway to his room. "It looks horrid, doesn't it? I knew I should've—" His new glasses had arrived by Owl that morning. The world had never been more clear. They were new, and therefore different. When he'd tried them on in the shop, and Snape had given his opinion on them, it had felt so right to buy them. Which didn't explain at all why Harry was so nervous about the glasses all of a sudden. Maybe it was because he was wearing his new clothes, too, and it all just looked so different from usual?

"Quite the opposite, Potter." Snape placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and studied him intently. "You look very mature."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Really?"

Snape nodded. "Put on your cloak, and we'll go."

Harry nodded and disappeared back into his room. The cloak he came back in was worn and had clearly seen better days. He had a ridiculously fluffy – turquoise – hat on his head, a Gryffindor scarf around his neck and fingerless – pink – gloves.

Snape looked him over but said nothing, even though Harry was sure he'd noticed that the cloak Harry was wearing wasn't exactly Harry's, but an old one of Snape's. Harry put on his old shoes that stood by the door leading out, not wanting to use his new ones quite yet. He'd save them for after Christmas.

When they were halfway to Hogsmeade, walking through a slushy mix of snow and mud, it started snowing again. It had snowed on and off all weekend as the temperature shifted from just below zero degrees, to a few plus and back again. Harry stuffed his hands, fingers red and stiff from the cold, into the pockets of his cloak.

"Have you no proper winter clothes, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I always forget. The other years, though, Mrs Weasley always asked if there was anything I needed, and she'd send along some of her kids' castoffs. I've always been smaller than Ron, so it's never been an issue. But I guess I must've grown more than I thought, 'cause the cloak I had last year don't fit anymore." He pulled a hand out and wiggled his fingers. "Neither did my gloves. I borrowed a jacket of yours yesterday, too."

"I noticed." Snape's tone sounded a bit off and cryptic at the same time.

"Oh."

"You have no boots, then?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. Too small. So, see, I've grown some."

"Indeed. How much have you grown since this summer?"

Harry stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. "Not really the point, is it?"

"If you say so, Potter." Snape smirked. "An inch, do you think?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and hurried his pace. Behind him, he could hear Snape chuckle at his antics. He was so focused on not slipping that he didn't notice that Snape had caught up to him until the man placed an arm around his shoulders.

"On the other hand, you have put on some weight, haven't you?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess."

Snape squeezed Harry's shoulder, then let his arm drop. "Good. As for the tree, try _not_ to pick the largest one you can find."

—x—

It was a protesting and blustering Harry who half-heartedly objected as Snape bought him a pair of boots that very same day. They were dark brown leather, lined with something deliriously soft, had thick soles and a number of charms and spells on them.

"You already gave me new glasses, Snape, you really don't need to—"

"Yes, I do."

"But—"

" _Harry_."

Harry shut up. He smiled goofily the entire way back, a hovering tree levitating after them obediently. And yes, it was _big_. Not the largest one, oh no, but far from the smallest one.

—x—

Later that night – whether it had to do with Christmas spirit or Snape or something else entirely, Harry didn't know – he sat down and composed a letter to Charlie. As he wrote it, he wondered why he hadn't done so sooner. He couldn't come up with one good reason other than that he'd been distracted – and just how good was that as a reason, anyway?

There was a knock on his doorframe; Harry tended to leave his door open unless he was sleeping. "S'open," he called anyway.

"Potter—"

"I liked it when you called me Harry," Harry blurted, focusing very intently on signing the letter.

 _Yours, Harry_ , he had finally chosen. Not too presumptuous, was it?

"I'm sure," Snape drawled. "I was wondering what your plans in regards to the tree were?"

If Harry were a dog, his ears would've perked up. "Did you get the decorations out?"

"No, I burned them. The tinsel was vexing me." Snape said it in such a deadpan voice that Harry'd whirled around, a scandalised expression on his face, by reflex.

"You didn't!"

Snape's smirk was almost gleeful. "No, I didn't. Are you coming?"

Harry wanted to glare, but he was too busy smiling. "I, yeah. I was just writing Charlie."

Snape's lips curled, a faint look of distaste on his face. "I don't like what he did, nor do I approve." His voice was tightly controlled, but Harry easily picked up on the fact that the man was angry.

"But—!"

"I know what I said, Harry. That said, he should not have done what he did." Snape sneered. "Then again, even I was young."

"Really, sir?" Harry drawled.

"You're pushing your luck, boy." Harry laughed. "As for Mr Weasley. What is 'some stuff'?"

Harry's face went beet red. "Um. You know. _Stuff_."

"Yes? Shall I fetch pictures? Diagrams?"

"No!" Harry squeaked. "Um. _No_!"

"Anal intercourse?"

"Stop. I'm not listening!" Harry slapped his hand over his ears. "Lalalaa~!"

Snape grabbed Harry's hands and pulled them away. "Mature, Potter. Truly. I ask because you are a minor. Mr Weasley is not. Do you understand?"

Harry blinked. He paled a little, but not much, still being very red in the face. "Oh. I wasn't sure what the, um, age of consent was. Seventeen?"

"As with everything else. Well?"

Harry shook his head. "We didn't even get completely…" Harry cleared his throat. "I was still sort of dressed. In the morning. So was he. We got each other off, that was it. Yeah, I wasn't ready. Still am not. If that makes me a freak, fine. But I wasn't exactly saying no at the time, you know? And _yes_ , I know it's because of the alcohol, but I've gone over this in my head so many times. I talked with Derek about it. I've talked with you. I don't know how much else there is I can _do_ without talking to him again, and, well. I'm still not sure what's bothering me about it besides the fact that I haven't heard from Charlie since the first of September." Harry let out an explosive breath. "There. That's it."

* * *

 **Until next time!**


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

At first Harry had been a bit surprised that it was Snape who was going to teach him how to become an Animagus, not McGonagall. Snape had explained it all to him, though, and apparently it had something to do with Occlumency, meditation and magical ability. Besides, McGonagall seemed satisfied that Snape could teach him, and that was really the important bit. She figured that since Harry's dad had been an Animagus, Harry would grasp it faster and a bit easier. Not everyone could transform, after all. It made him a bit curious if Snape knew how to or not, since he had the theory bit off pat.

They had done this a lot lately, this meditation bit.

"Are you relaxed, Potter?"

"Harry," Harry blurted automatically.

Harry could almost hear Snape roll his eyes. " _Harry_. Are you relaxed?"

"Mmmm. Feels like I'm floating." He was stretched out on his stomach across the sofa. It felt divine. Snape had talked him into how to relax properly, how to relax every single part of his body. He dimly heard Snape cast the spell that would aid Harry in how to _think into_ his animal. It was strange. They'd done this so many times by now, though, that Harry had learned not to fight the feeling.

One minute, Harry would see himself in a mossy glen, just like Snape had directed him to. The next he was leaping from tree to tree in a warm breeze, protected from the searing sun. He was almost flying through the air on very nimble and sturdy little legs, a long tail helping him keep his balance twitching behind him.

It was quite simply glorious.

"I've a tail," he blurted, elated, realising it was true. "Paws. M'flying through the trees. Oh! Squirrel! Mmmm, s'nice n'tasty…"

"Not a monkey, then?"

"Mmmm," Harry groaned. "Monkey. Yum. Tasty little buggers."

"For some, maybe," Snape muttered. "Did you catch something?"

Harry hummed. "Birdie." He flexed his hands as if they were paws and he was kneading a cushion. "S'too slow. Oh, m'tail's _really_ long. Lookie, lookie…"

"Is there water near?"

Harry cocked his head. "Mmm. Small lake. Wet. Icky."

"Yes, I quite agree. How do you feel?"

"Warm. Niiiiice," he hissed. "I've fur."

"Is it soft?"

Harry rubbed his face against his arm. "Mmmm. Nice ears."

"Do you have your ears right now?"

Harry rubbed his hand over his head. "Mmm, no. Strange. Feels soft."

"Imagine them."

Harry sighed. Then he moved, shifting until he was curled up on his side. Something _changed._ Harry's ears slowly moved, morphing into something pointed and furry. Then his skull changed, hair transforming into fur, fur sprouting where winter pale skin had been. A tail popped out, rapidly growing, just as Harry's body rapidly shrank in size. He was disappearing inside the robe, until only an agitated tail poked out where his feet had previously been.

"Mnrowpf," Harry sneezed. Then he panicked. It was dark. He couldn't see. Constricted. "Mrrrooeew!"

"Easy." Voice, dark, calm. Hands, gentle, soft. Removing the dark. Picking him up. Holding him, cradling him. "There, Harry. Where are you?"

 _SNAPE_! He wanted to exclaim. _SNAPE_! He settled for rapidly moving his tail to show his pleasure, how happy he was. The sound that came out was low and purring. "Mrrow," he murmured, feeling very good and safe. Snape's arms were so warm. He butted his head under Snape's chin.

"Very good, boy. Very good. Do you want to see?"

Harry nodded, letting out eager sounds of agreement.

Snape conjured a mirror, then placed Harry in his lap and turned him around.

"Mrriaow!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes. It is indeed a cat. Shall we see if you can change back?"

Change back? Harry's ears twitched. He thought, _BOY I'M A BOY_ , and suddenly he _was_. Snape grunted from the sudden change in weight.

Harry was also very naked. In Snape's lap.

He might have let out a highly undignified noise. But then he was diving for his robe. Harry wrapped it around his hips like a towel, his blushing reaching a fair bit down on his chest.

"Well," Snape said, voice very dry, "that was…interesting. Not quite what I had in mind."

"I thought Animagi changed with their clothes!" Harry squeaked.

Snape cleared his throat. "Some have problems with that part in the beginning, I believe. It will come."

"Naked, Snape!" Harry protested.

"I hear Minerva had similar problems," Snape muttered. "To the joy of her instructor, I'm sure."

"Ew! That's, ew! Gross."

Snape shrugged. "Your loss. She was a very attractive woman when she was young. Albus has pictures." Changing the subject, he asked, "Can you change again?"

"Um." Harry frowned. He wasn't sure what to think about. He'd felt small, warm. Safe. _Small_. He was cat, purring under Snape's hands.

"There we go," Snape said.

"What?" Harry demanded, only it came out as a loud chirping meow. Oh! He'd changed again. With a delighted noise, he leaped for Snape's lap and hands and demanded a thorough petting session. It felt so nice, he purred, basking in the sure hands that stroked his fur and scratched his ears and – Mmmmmnyes – under his chin.

"Such a demanding boy, you are."

Harry purred louder.

Later that afternoon they let McGonagall know. She cracked a smile at Harry's problem, was suitably impressed when he demonstrated his transformation for her, and promised to look into what species he was. There was an essay looming, and he promised to have it done by the time classes started up again.

—x—

When Tuesday rolled around, the tree he and Snape had purchased had stood undecorated – naked – for two days. Which was simply unacceptable. By noon, when Snape still hadn't returned to their flat – was it theirs, truly? Harry was quite sure he wanted it to be – Harry stormed the man's office.

"Snape."

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry momentarily lost his thread. Then he refocused. "The tree, Snape. Are you trying to get out of your duty, sir? You promised to decorate it with me, and the box's been standing by the tree since _Sunday_."

Snape sighed, pushed away the essays he corrected and stood up. He didn't look particularly put out. "That I did. Shall we?"

"Now?" Harry asked eagerly.

"This moment is as good as any other."

"Great! Come on. You have a star, right, for the top?"

"An angel." Before Harry could argue the worth of a star versus an angel, Snape added, "Your grandmother gave that one to me. She seemed to think I'd need a guardian angel to look out for me at Christmas."

Suddenly, there wasn't a more perfect decoration to place at the very top of a Christmas tree.

"Did…you and Mum reconcile? I mean, you said the other day you'd held me as a baby…and I just wondered, you know?"

"In a way. Albus told her I was a spy. It seemed to lift a weight off her shoulders. By then it was too little, too late. And Potter and I never saw eye to eye. But given time, I would like to think…"

"You'd have been like an uncle, wouldn't you? I mean, a proper uncle. Not like, um."

"Yes, quite. As I recall, my name was particularly troublesome."

Harry grinned. "Really? What'd I call you?"

Snape smirked. "Sssss," he hissed.

Harry burst out laughing.

—x—

The letter to Charlie brought an unexpected, and quick, response. Harry was alone in the flat at the time, Snape being at a staff meeting, when there was a knock on the door. Well, there was a knock on the door leading to Snape's office. It sounded like a chime in the flat itself.

"Odd," Harry murmured, as he cast the spell Snape had taught him to reveal the person on the other side of the door. He'd mentioned where he was staying in the letter, a bit stupid, maybe, but part of him _had_ been hoping Charlie might come visit. He'd just sort of expected another couple of letters first.

Charlie Weasley stood there, looking both curious and bored at the same time. Harry's stomach did a weird little flip, then he hurried through the flat into Snape's office.

"Hi, Charlie." He grinned.

Charlie frowned. "I know you, don't I?" he asked. Harry's grin quickly died.

Feeling almost sick, Harry managed a low, "Yes. We…last summer…"

Charlie's frown deepened. "Last summer is a haze," he said, sounding troubled and a little scared. "Can I come in?"

Mute, Harry nodded. He carefully closed the door behind Charlie's back, then led the way back into the flat.

"Never thought I'd ever step foot inside Snape's office again," Charlie said lightly, attempting to joke and failing miserably.

Harry shrugged, waved him through the supply closet, then closed that door as well. "I'll get tea," he muttered and fled for the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, Harry clenched his eyes shut and took several deep breaths. Just seeing Charlie again erased all the months since last summer. Every emotion, every feeling, desire and urge – it was all _there_ again, as if it had never gone anywhere. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

Wasn't he even important enough to Charlie that the man'd remember him?

Harry shook his head and set about preparing tea with unsteady hands and burning eyes.

When Harry returned to the sitting room, Charlie was standing with his back to Harry, hands in his pockets, as he inspected the books Snape had on Magical Beings and Creatures. There were a few about dragons in there, mostly ones that had to do with potions, but Harry'd had them all out at one point or other. The ones that didn't have with potions or arcane spells and charms to do were rather good, but the rest just went over his head.

"Any good?"

Charlie started and turned around. "Yeah. Rather. Um." He narrowed his eyes. "I have this feeling I'm _supposed_ to know you, Harry. I recognise you. I recognised your voice. But I don't _remember_ you. When I got the letter it stumped me, because I never get letters from complete strangers, but at the same time I felt that I _should_ know you. And I just _knew_ what you look like. I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I knew I had to come here."

Harry's face lost what little colour it had. "You…forgot?" His hands were trembling so bad he almost couldn't hold on to the tray any more, and he put it down on the table. "You don't– nothing?"

Charlie focused his eyes on Harry, his arms crossed over his chest. "You make me think of mummies," Charlie eventually said. "And that's completely daft, 'cause—"

"We went to the cinema and saw _The Mummy_ ," Harry said. "You'd never been to the cinema, and since I'm half-blood I guess you figured I could take us."

"Cinema…" Charlie trailed off. Harry filled in, "Really big telly," just as Charlie said the same. Charlie shook his head. "See, why do I know that?"

"'Cause I took you. You." Harry cleared his throat and blinked his eyes. "You said it was a date."

"But I don't remember!" Charlie exclaimed. "And I didn't even remember that I didn't remember until you sent that letter!" He sounded upset and angry and confused, all rolled up in one. "But I should! I should 'cause _I know_ you bloody suck at poker and I don't even know who you are!"

Something in Harry snapped. "You fucking wanker!" he shouted.

Charlie's eyes blazed. "How the fuck am I a wanker? You're the one who says you know me!"

"I know! 'Cause you do! You fucking seduced me, you git! Is it all just some, some _game_ to you? The big, bad Dragon Keeper—!"

"No! _Who are you_?"

"I'm Harry Potter, Charlie! _Harry Potter_! First time I met you I was _fourteen_!"

"I've never seen you in my life!"

"You kissed me! You—"

"What is going on here?" Snape demanded, voice silky and low. It shut both Harry and Charlie up. "I could hear your caterwauling out in the corridor."

"Nothing," Harry muttered.

But Charlie said, "I don't remember him."

"You don't _remember_?" Snape raised an eyebrow, his tone bordering on mocking.

Charlie looked almost afraid, but he didn't back down. "Yeah, exactly, Professor: I don't remember him. I don't know who he is. I've never seen him in my life. Except I should have, right? I recognised the owl, Hedwig. I knew what Harry would look like. But I don't _remember._ And until just now, I didn't even remember that I didn't remember half of what I did last summer. And that's just bloody…wrong."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "You have no recollection of who Harry Potter is?"

Charlie ran a hand through his hair. It was shorter now than it had been last time Harry saw him. Still as wild, though. There was a fresh burn scar on his left hand, the skin still shiny.

"No, I…there's nothing." Charlie said, sounding obviously frustrated. "Oranges?"

"A Clockwork Orange. Second time at the cinema," Harry said shortly. "It was a Wednesday. It rained. You discovered the delights of Chinese takeaway."

Charlie winced and shook his head.

" _Nothing_? We talked for hours! You kept dragging me off—" Harry snapped his mouth shut. He took a deep breath. Clenched his fingers into tight fists, because at least then he couldn't feel how badly they trembled. "The Quidditch game? The pancakes? That Welsh dragon reserve? The dragon glasses? _Nothing_?"

"I'm sorry, mate." The worst part was that Charlie did look so fucking sorry, too. "I know you know how many species there are." Charlie snapped his fingers. "Oh. And you had a funny scar somewhere. Like a zigzag. A tattoo?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, darting a glance at Harry who was reflexively smoothing his hair down to cover the scar in question.

"No tattoo," Harry muttered. "You said I should get one, though."

Snape ignored that part. He came over to stand next to Harry, then placed a hand on the boy's forehead and brushed back his wayward fringe. "This scar?"

Charlie blinked, squinted a bit, then nodded. "Yeah. Zigag. I…might've…" His tongue came out, quick as lightning, and wet his bottom lip.

"Yes," Harry muttered, "you did." And Charlie had licked the scar, more than once. It had tickled and itched at the same time. With Snape still so close, his hand absentmindedly running through Harry's wild mop of hair, Harry took the opportunity for what it was and leaned against Snape.

"Most refer to it as a lightning bolt," Snape said, out of the blue.

"I guess." Charlie shrugged. "The letter N, a bit distorted."

Snape shook his head. "You have no recollection of the symbolism?"

"No."

"You have no recollection of Harry?"

Another little shrug. "No, not really. Maybe if I stayed here the entire day, more and more would come trickling back. It's like I _know_ I'm supposed to know all this, I can see it, _there_ , just out of reach. But every time I grab for it, it's gone. Like, I thought something looked odd about him earlier, but just now I realised it's that his glasses are different."

Snape narrowed his eyes a little. After a quick, darting glance at Harry, his dark eyes sharp and attentive, Snape said, "The words 'Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived' have no meaning to you?"

Charlie frowned, but in the end had to shake his head. "No. No, I don't think so. Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Voldemort." Snape's face looked as if it had been carved from stone, but Harry still thought he could see Snape's left arm twitch, as if the mention of the name hurt him. He could certainly feel it, but then Snape stepped away.

Charlie paled. "Dad says he's been infiltrating the Ministry. There've been attacks that he says have been swept under the carpet. New Minister isn't so keen on letting the public know what's going on."

"I see," Snape bit out.

"What?"

A dark glare in his eyes, Snape turned to Harry. "Why were you sent to stay at Grimmauld Place so abruptly this summer?"

"I…" Harry blinked. "I was just there, one day." It had been very early on in the summer. Almost immediately after school let out. Dumbledore'd never let him leave that early before. He… "I've no idea. I don't remember. But Dumbledore hasn't really been talking to me since fourth year. I dunno. I was just... _there_."

No matter how hard Harry thought, how much effort he put into it, he still couldn't remember what he had been doing _before_ he'd loitered outside of that library for so long before finally going inside.

"D'you want me to call Bill?" Charlie asked.

"Bill?" Harry was feeling more than a little confused.

Snape shook his head. "I must confer with the Headmaster."

Then Snape was gone, swept away in green flames.

"…what's going on?"

Charlie let out a great puff of air. "I've no idea. What's the 'Boy-Who-Lived stuff'?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. "You….you don't know."

"Know what?"

Harry swallowed, then sank down on the sofa. "Voldemort tried to off me when I was a baby, but it didn't work. So someone decided that I was the 'Boy-Who-Lived'." He ran a hand over his face. "Could we not talk about that?" Charlie shrugged, so Harry asked, "Why did you want to call Bill?"

Charlie sat down as well, then reached for the neglected tea Harry'd brought earlier. "He's a cursebreaker."

"Yeah, I know that, but…" Harry trailed off. Charlie'd only think they needed a cursebreaker if there was a curse that needed breaking. Like… How Charlie could have completely forgotten about a person, up to the point where he didn't even know that Harry was somewhat famous in that morbid and sick way. Yet, Charlie still knew who Voldemort was.

Or how Harry suddenly had no recollection of why he'd left his relatives so early this year. The more he thought about it, the less sure he felt he'd even been at Privet Drive this summer.

"This summer, you said it was odd how your parents never came to see me. 'Cause, normally, Mrs Weasley is always trying to pull me into your family. Feeding me and hugging me and knitting me jumpers…"

Charlie eyed him. "Yeah, you'd be sure to pull several of her maternal instincts."

"Skinny and underfed?"

Charlie grinned. It made Harry's stomach do a weird little flip. "Yeah, something like that."

Harry bit his lip. "I know Ron always thought those jumpers were the worst thing ever, but to me they were probably the best part about Christmas. I'd never had someone who cared enough about me to do something for me like that before." Harry flashed Charlie a wry smile. "And I'd always be just enough smaller than Ron that I'd fit into his old jumpers as well by the time next Christmas rolled around."

"So that's why Ron stopped complaining about them," Charlie mused.

"I guess," Harry said. He reached for the tea, preparing himself a big cup of sweetened, milky tea, then sat back on the sofa, feet pulled up on the cushioned seat.

Charlie stared at him for several long minutes, looking relaxed and comfortable and just a bit curious. It wasn't clear to Harry what Charlie was curious about until the man actually spoke up again. "Could you tell me about it?"

"'Bout what?"

"Us. This summer." Charlie tapped the side of his head. "See if it can start this old thing up," he joked. Harry smiled despite himself, then shrugged.

"I guess," he said.

So Harry started talking, haltingly at first, then with greater confidence. Charlie didn't interrupt or look as if he didn't believe a word coming out of Harry's mouth. But he did look both curious and interested. He made enough noises that let Harry know the man was both listening and agreeing with Harry that he didn't feel completely disheartened. But most importantly of all was probably when, every once in a while, Charlie would suddenly _know_ something, a titchy little bit of memory that Harry had overlooked or forgotten about. It was just enough for Harry to keep going, that flickering light of hope in his chest going strong despite it all.

It was just enough, too, Harry reckoned, for Charlie not to think it was all some hoax.

"You said we made pancakes a lot?"

"Yeah, basically whenever you came back from Romania, or wherever you'd gone off to." Harry drained his cup of the last of the tea, then put it down on the table. "Well," he amended, "I made the pancakes. You mostly watched."

"I watched?" Charlie drawled, eyebrows raised.

Harry's grin was cheeky. "You'd made me wear this awfully frilly apron, then shrank my jeans until they were so tight they might as well've been painted on. _Then_ you watched."

Charlie ran his eyes over Harry's curled up frame. "I can see how that would've appealed to me."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Soo…" Charlie sat up straight, the grin on his face warning Harry before Charlie'd even completed his sentence. "What say you we make some pancakes?"

Harry just laughed and shook his head. But it'd at least give him something to do other than worrying his arse off. Snape had been gone an awfully long time, hadn't he? And, yeah, the whole mess with Charlie hadn't exactly panned out the way he'd hoped it would, but working himself up over that wasn't really worth it, either. It'd make him sick, and Harry _really_ didn't want to be sick. Not when he was finally getting on top of his problem, so to speak.

Charlie had cleaned up the tea while Harry had been thinking. A poke on his nose drew him out to see Charlie gazing down at him, teasing twinkle in his eyes.

"What?"

Charlie smirked. "You _do_ have an apron, right?"

"Twat!"

"What can I say? I've got an apron fetish."

Harry rolled his eyes. He nudged Charlie to the side, then stood up. "Oh yeah, 'cause that explains it all, doesn't it?"

But Harry knew he'd wear the apron. He always had in the past, after all. It wasn't until he bent over to pull out a bowl from the deepest recesses of one of Snape's cupboards that he felt his jeans tighten to an almost alarming rate.

Charlie whistled. "Yeah, I can _definitely_ see why I kept wanting you to make pancakes."

"You're a right pervert," Harry told him. He had an urge to slap Charlie with a spatula, but that was just pushing it, in his opinion. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter.

"I know," Charlie leered. "As I recall, you used to like it."

"And what do you remember, exactly?"

"I'd do this," Charlie explained, stepping up so close their chests were touching. Then he reached behind Harry and goosed Harry. "Ah, yeah. You'd go all red."

Harry rolled his eyes. "'Cause I wasn't sure if I liked it or not, twat."

Charlie cocked his head to the side. "Yeah. No rush, right?"

"Exactly. So. Pancakes?"

And for a short time, it was almost as if nothing had changed.

"Be my guest."

Unlike the times in the past, when Charlie had lounged back against the kitchen table, Charlie stepped up to stand next to Harry. He rolled up his sleeves, then took over the stirring the batter. "You've more skill flipping pancakes," he told Harry.

With a shrug, Harry went off in search for a pan. "Want me to teach you?"

"Mum's tried and failed, mate."

"I do it the Muggle way, though."

"Don't see how it's any different."

That was how Snape found them when he came home, pressed up close next to each other in front of the cooker, flipping pancakes, talking and laughing. There was a plate on the table, teeming with pancakes, even as yet another perfectly golden and crispy pancake sailed through the air towards the waiting pile curtsey of a neat piece of magic.

The left pocket of Harry's jeans had a white, hand shaped flour-print. Snape raised an eyebrow at the frilly apron the boy was wearing, but didn't comment on either that or how the trousers had shrunk so much in size.

"For which army are you cooking?"

Charlie started, but Harry threw a grin over his shoulder. "Dunno. Are there many kids left in Slytherin?"

"Some."

"What did—"

"Oy!" Charlie exclaimed. "Imminent pancake failure!"

Harry laughed and turned back, flipped the pancake over with a deft flick of his wrist. "There. How much batter left?"

"Just one more."

"You said that four pancakes ago," Harry said in a sing song voice as he floated the finished pancaked over, then poured the very last of the batter down in the pan. It was done in a matter of minutes, and once it was on the table, Harry turned to Snape, a serious expression on his face, even as he was sucking on his bottom lip in worry.

"While Albus has _not_ forgotten," Snape said slowly, "he did admit that he has observed that several members of the school, the Order and the public at large do seem to have forgotten in various degrees both the Boy-Who-Lived and Harry Potter. Minerva, for example, has forgotten about the Boy-Who-Lived, but not about Harry Potter. She is hardly alone in this among the staff."

Harry paled.

Snape told him to sit down, and the boy did. Charlie slid into a seat next to him. With a wave of his wand, Snape soon had plates and cutlery, as well as various supplements that could be added to the pancakes on the table.

"Harry."

Harry raised his head and looked at Snape, hopelessness and fear and anguish plain to see in his eyes.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I believe he didn't wish to worry you," Snape said with a grimace.

"Bollocks," Harry muttered.

"Someone has gone to great lengths to ensure you would fall into obscurity, Harry. _That is_ _worrisome_." Snape had prepared a pancake as he spoke on his plate. "This is very good."

"Don't have to sound so surprised," Harry mumbled, fighting a pleased smile. "I can cook, y'know."

"Knowledge and ability are not the same."

"He makes the best pancakes, doesn't he?" Charlie added.

Harry shrugged. "I always thought Mrs Weasley's were fab."

"That's just 'cause you weren't cooking them. I'm telling you, as an expert, yours are _way_ better." Charlie's grin was bright and wide, the right corner of his mouth smudged with the bramble jam he'd smeared on his pancake. Harry's fingers itched to wipe it off. "Where d'you buy your jam?" Charlie wondered, peering closer at the handwritten label on the jar.

"He makes it!" Harry chirped, before Snape could make something else up. That right there was another little hidden, fascinating bit of info on Snape: the man made his own _jam_. "It's really good, isn't it?"

The look on Charlie's face was priceless. The he grinned, shook his head and put the jar back down on the table. "Prepare it in a huge cauldron, do you?"

With an indulgent smirk, Snape reached out and took it. "Of course. Smoke Charms and a Green Illumines casting added for effect, naturally."

—x—

What Harry really wanted to do was have a long talk with Snape about Dumbledore and why no one— _Fuck_. Harry closed his eyes tightly. He wanted Snape to talk to him about why Charlie had forgotten, and he wanted Snape to explain it to him in detail.

 _Bugger it_ , Harry wanted Snape to ' _fix_ ' it, just wave his 'magic stick' and it'd be done, back to normal.

As if Harry was a little kid and Snape the all-knowing, powerful and all-mighty Parent. When in reality… When in reality, Harry hadn't even started at Hogwarts yet when he'd realised that adults really didn't 'know' everything, or were all that much smarter, or had the ability to make everything better again.

"Hey."

Harry opened his eyes and looked up. Charlie was sprawled in Harry's mismatched armchair. He'd said it was the coolest piece of furniture he'd ever seen, barring the somewhat levitating bed Bill'd had in his first flat.

"He'll be back before you know it."

Harry scowled. "I don't—"

"You look at Snape as if he's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you don't know what to do with that. It scares you. Mostly, I think, because you don't think you deserve it." Charlie eyed him shrewdly. "First, I figured Snape was your dad, you know? He's not, though, is he?"

Harry's heart pounded something awful.

"Except I get the feeling you want him to be. I get that look all the time at work, you know. I'm in charge of the orphaned dragons. They all look at me as if I'm their mum, instead of a sizeable snack."

"I'm _not_ a dragon!" Harry snapped.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "That wasn't what I was saying. I'm saying that you want Snape to take you in fulltime. _Permanently_."

Shifting and twitching a lot, Harry felt himself heat up. "…is it so bad?" Harry whispered. "I mean. He's, um. I don't know. D'you really think so?" he asked, eyes bright. Because if Charlie who didn't know him all that well any more could see that from just having pancakes with them, then maybe the idea wasn't as farfetched as Harry'd sort of made himself assume it was.

"From what I can see, the Professor takes care of you, looks after you and protects your interests."

"He doesn't lie to me," Harry added.

"Doesn't treat you like a little kid, then?" Charlie looked sheepish. "Let's just say he wasn't real happy with me about what I did to you last of August. Longest visit to the loo in my life," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh." Harry's grin was just a little bit hesitant. He couldn't decide whether to be angry or what, that Snape had laid into Charlie about what they'd done last summer. All in a bathroom break that couldn't have been longer than, what, three minutes?

"So, d'you remember, or…?" Harry hesitantly asked, instead of asking just what Snape had said to him.

Charlie looked pensive for a moment. "I kept having this dream about you. It confused me, because at the time I kept wondering why I was giving head to a complete stranger, but _now_ I know it wasn't really a dream."

"I kept wanting to ask why you did it, Charlie. You were always telling me there wasn't a rush, that it'd happen when the time was right. Afterwards, it felt like you'd got me drunk, and then got me off. It…didn't feel good."

"I may not remember my exact reasoning back then, but I know myself, and I _know_ I'd never do that. If I were that type of person, I'd never be able to work with dragon kits. Responsibility, and all that. New-born animals can tell what sort of person you are, and they don't trust dishonest types." Charlie stood up, then came over and sat next to Harry on the bed. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry, almost by reflex, leaned into the man. "In my dream, I don't remember that I forced you."

Harry twisted around, then leaned his head on Charlie's shoulder. "I don't think you did, really. It was just that I was drunk. It bothered me forever, and at first I didn't know what it was that was bothering me, exactly. It wasn't until someone else started hitting on me that I realised I still felt all uncomfortable and awkward about sex… It hit me that if I'd been sober, then I never would've done what I did with you." Charlie's arm felt good around his shoulders.

"Yeah," Charlie eventually said, "Me, too. Truth is, I didn't really start dating until after Hogwarts."

"Seems like a good idea."

"Boyfriend?"

Harry shook his head. "Turned out he was a twat. Just wanted to bugger me, scratch a notch on his bedpost and move on. Dumped him."

"Prick." Charlie laughed suddenly. "I'm _way_ too much of a Weasley to want 'casual encounters', as they say. That, and I like my dragons too much."

"You used to talk a lot about your work."

Charlie laughed. "I usually do. So, did I bore you or fascinate you?"

"That last one, definitely. You know, for my birthday you even got me these neat tumblers with dragons on them."

Charlie was still for a moment, then he nodded. "I actually remember that, now you mention it. I've been wondering for the longest time why I'd bought four back in August for delivery in December. Guess I know now."

Harry perked up instantly. "Present?"

" _Christmas_ gift," Charlie corrected. "You'll have to wait a couple of days more."

There was a sudden sharp knock on the door as Snape rapped his knuckles against it from the outside that started both of them. "Weasley, get off the bed," he called. Was that amusement in his voice?

For a short moment, Harry and Charlie gaped at each other, eyes wide in incredulity. Slowly, Harry's face went beet red even as Charlie threw his head back and laughed.

" _Snape_!" Harry exclaimed.

"Still on the bed," Snape called back, sounding _way_ too smug.

"— _put a Chastity Ward on your bed!_ " Charlie wheezed out between bouts of laughter.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Charlie had stayed for a couple of hours longer. Harry had wanted to throw the door open in defiance – who did Snape think he was, anyway, putting wards on _Harry's_ bed? – but Charlie had just shaken his head. _And_ he had moved over to sit in the armchair. Harry had been very tempted to go over and sit in the man's lap, but then. Well. He remembered that Charlie _didn't_ remember.

Besides, he had it on good authority that his arse was very much too bony.

When the clock had chimed ten, Charlie had stretched and stood up, declaring it was time to go lest he give Snape even more cause to embarrass them both. Mostly Harry, of course, he'd added with a lascivious wink.

But it was the very last thing he'd said before opening the door that had struck the hardest chore within Harry.

 _You know_ , he'd whispered teasingly in Harry's ear, _Mum always cast those Wards on mine and Bill's beds whenever we had friends that had the potential of being_ more _than that over. Just so you know. Parents care about stuff like that._

So instead of glaring at Snape where he was sitting comfortably stretched out in his armchair, Harry'd given him a quick, shy smile. Snape raised a suspicious eyebrow, a hint of confusion in his dark eyes.

"Can I come back to visit again?" Charlie asked, standing in front of the fireplace.

"Sure!" Harry grinned. "That'd be great. You could finally show me those Quidditch moves you were talking about—"

"Harry, I believe he was asking me for permission."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "Why?"

"As the adult in this household, perhaps?" Snape silkily countered. His gaze was shrewd and calculating as he stared first Charlie down, then Harry into fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His _properly_ buttoned shirt. Not that there had been anything going on in his room that would've caused him to come out rumpled and tousled. Finally, Snape stood up. "If you wish."

Harry grinned. "Thanks. That's great. Really. Um." A bit embarrassed, and unsure of what to say, Harry turned to Charlie. "So, see you again?" he asked.

"I'll bring my broom."

Just as Charlie was reaching for the Floo powder, Harry cried out, "Wait!"

Snape looked sharply at Harry, and Charlie dropped the powder back into the obsidian bowl.

"What?"

"It won't make you forget again, will it? Snape? He won't forget again, right?" Harry was looking mostly to Snape for answers, and reassurance.

Snape shook his head. In an oddly subdued voice, he said, "No, he won't. Mr Weasley knows about the spell now."

Harry looked stricken. "He won't forget…because he knows there's a spell making him?" He felt vaguely sick. All he had to do was go round telling people who he was, and they wouldn't forget him again?

Snape nodded shortly.

"I'll see you soon again, all right?" A hand on Harry's shoulder made Harry turn to face Charlie again. "You can even come over to the Burrow, if you want. See what Mum makes of you."

Harry just nodded, feeling numb and a little sick. He watched with an air of detachment as Charlie Floo'd away, this time without Harry calling him back. The man disappeared in a swirl of green flames.

Harry stared at the flickering flames for the longest while before turning away. Snape stood there, watching him silently.

"You didn't have to put…" Harry trailed off. "I wouldn't have. Not with him, anyway," he muttered. Once had been enough. He'd realised that some time ago, subconsciously. This meeting, just know, with Charlie had only firmed that resolve. Charlie was great, fit and fun and sexy, and the list went on and on, but it had been too long. Yeah, Harry knew why he'd never heard from Charlie. He did. He wasn't sure why he'd never tried to contact the man sooner, but fact was that he _hadn't_ until now. "He's a great friend."

"Is he?" Snape wondered.

"Yeah. He is. He's good to talk to. He listens and stuff."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I seem to remember 'stuff' being something quite—"

Harry grinned, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on! Not like that. I promise. Charlie's not… I mean, he's _hot_ , yeah, but I don't fancy him the same way any more. S'like, it's been too long or something. I'm not sure how serious I was about him in the first place. Guess too much has happened since last summer."

—x—

The next morning after breakfast – which had just happened to consist of leftover pancakes – and after Harry'd had yet another check-up with Pomfrey, Harry went to see Snape in his office. The dungeons were cold. His breath turned to white mist, and Harry found himself glad that he'd remembered to nick another thick jumper off Snape. He was sure his lips would've turned blue otherwise.

It wasn't until he was halfway there that he had the brilliant idea that he could just transform into his animagus form, and run. He'd be there in no time. Yeah, he'd be naked, but cats had fur, right? He'd be warmer, wouldn't he? Harry was quite sure he'd definitely be warmer. So, after finding a more or less out of the way nook to hide in, Harry deftly transformed himself into a cat. After struggling with his suddenly constricting clothes for some time, Harry was soon free and, in bounding leaps, raced towards Snape's office.

The world was strange. Colours muted, bleeding into each other. But clear. Clearer and sharper than Harry'd ever seen before. Scents assaulted him. Sounds. Tastes. More than once, he wanted to chase after a sound, or a half-recognised scent that promised food.

What Harry hadn't counted on was that he'd become tired. By the time he rounded the corner by Snape's office, his muscles were straining. His fur stood on end, and his poor paws were icy and sore. He was trembling with cold when he finally slid to a halt outside the door to Snape's office.

Scratching at the wood, he yowled loudly enough to wake the dead. _Why wasn't Snape opening the door?_ "Ooooouuuuuwt!"

"Oh, Potter," Snape sighed. The voice came from behind Harry, and the cat twisted around, then leaped for the safety that was Snape.

"Miaaaow!" he yowled, pressing himself against the warmth – the delicious _heat_. He pressed his nose against Snape's neck, ignoring the hiss that earned him, and basked. _Warm_ , he purred.

"Watch the claws, boy," Snape snapped. He wasn't angry, though, Harry decided, because large hands held him safe. Harry tried to stop kneading Snape's chest with his paws, but the motion was instinctual, and hard to the point of impossibility to quench. Snape held him out, under his forelegs.

"Mrrrrwn," Harry told Snape, before enthusiastically cleaning Snape's nose. Yeah, some instincts definitely were harder to supress than others.

Snape sneezed. "For God's sake, Potter," he grumbled. The door to his office opened with a touch of his hand. Inside it was much warmer, the fire having been started very early in the morning, and kept burning by the elves. Harry's purr went up a notch. Snape put the cat down on the rug in front of the fireplace, then went back outside to the hallway again. When he came back, he was carrying Harry's clothes and shoes.

Harry the cat had scooted as near the flames as he dared, back hunched and tail trembling, as he inched his face closer still.

"Trying to get rid of your whiskers, Tumbles?"

"Mnnnr," Harry disagreed.

Snape scoffed. Moments later, Harry's clothes appeared next to the cat. "I'll be waiting inside," Snape said before leaving.

Harry twisted an ear. Once he was sure he was alone, he quickly transformed back, got dressed, and made his way inside the flat.

"I know. Not a brilliant idea," he told Snape as he sat down on the sofa, instantly wrapping himself up in a thick, comfy blanket. His palms and the soles of his feet still tingled.

"Obviously," Snape agreed.

Turning nervous eyes in Snape's direction, Harry shifted a bit closer, then asked, "So…yesterday?"

"First, tell me this. What did _you_ forget?"

Harry looked blank. He shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, I can't think of one good reason why I didn't write Charlie sooner. I realised yesterday that I didn't remember what I was doing in London so soon. In fact, I don't actually remember going back to the Dursleys this summer at all. D'you know if I did? I'm not sure…but—oh. When I went to see Derek, he said the Ministry'd talked about me, how I was dangerous and insane. But he said ' _Harry Potter_ '. Not, you know, Boy-Who-Lived or anything like that. Most of the school even agreed. I know they remembered that bit, but around Halloween, it was like everyone'd just started to ignore me instead."

"I have a point," Snape interjected. "This summer."

"Yeah?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, but his focus was on the fire, and his eyes were distant. "Why is it you were free to roam Muggle London, without being reprimanded, even once?"

Harry opened his mouth. Then he closed it. There weren't any of the protections around Grimmauld Place that was on Privet Drive. None.

"I can't come up with a single satisfactory reason. _Albus_ ," Snape sneered, "Won't deign to answer me on that point, which leads me to believe he meddled with that much, at the very least."

Harry wasn't slow on the uptake, nor particularly thick – on stuff that had to do with him, anyway. " _Dumbledore made everyone forget_!" he exclaimed, looking more than a little wild around the eyes.

"No. At least, not as such."

"Then what the fuck did he do! Why won't he bloody talk to me for?" Harry shouted. "My life's a fucking—!"

"He Obscured you," Snape said. His voice was low and tired. Harry snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. "It's at best a tricky branch of magic. It's not dark, but neither is it light. It's in-between and often overlooked. It's finicky, shrouded in duality, ambiguous and thusly disregarded. Albus won't admit doing it, of course, but his denial wasn't particularly convincing. Silence is the best confession, don't you know?"

"…Obscurity?"

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. It sounded like he muttered, 'could kill for a fucking fag right now,' but, well. It was _Snape_. Snape didn't smoke. Did he?

"Snape?"

Snape took a deep breath. Focusing on something just the left of Harry's face, Snape said in a stilted tone, "How many piercings do you have?"

Harry frowned. "None. I never got any. Ron always said only gays had them. I was thirteen and didn't want to be a gay. Guess Bill's doesn't count."

Snape shook his head. Staring straight at Harry's left ear, he repeated his question. "No, Harry. _How many holes in your ears do you have_?" he hissed out from between clenched teeth.

"I don't have any, I said—"

"Wrong!" Snape shouted. "How many do you have, boy?"

Harry started. "I…I don't have any, sir," he insisted. "I never had any. Hermione used to say it took weeks to heal properly. I never… I would've—"

"What? Remembered?" Snape sneered. He Conjured a mirror and held it up in front of Harry. Snape then muttered another spell, one that forced Harry's hair back and away from his face. It left his ears totally bare. Harry found himself focusing on his right earlobe, perfectly smooth and unadorned.

"See!" Harry pointed it out to Snape. "Nothing!"

The black eyes narrowed considerably. "And what about your _other_ ear, Potter?"

Harry faltered. "My…other ear?" He blinked several times. His fingers were unsteady when he finally managed to move them up to his face, to his ear. It was ridiculous. There was nothing there – he'd never got his ears pierced – but he found he had to force himself to look. Something was making him _really_ not want to look at his left ear. Harry ran a trembling finger from high up on his cartilage, all the way down to the fleshy lobe. In the centre, the perfect centre of his earlobe, Harry stopped moving his finger.

"Yes?"

"It's a…a stud. There is a stud. I have an earring," Harry mumbled, shocked. "Where…"

Snape Banished the mirror. "It's a Perception Filter of sorts. It stops you from noticing. The __Fidelius__ _ _Charm__ is based on this principle, as are most other Hiding and Secrecy Charms. The Obscuration Charm is hidden inside a prism, something small. Like the centre of your earring. The Perception Filter on the earring itself is hidden _exactly_ where you don't want to look. Where you _never_ want to look." Snape's eyes were burning. "It's that nasty little place out of the corner of your eye that you always avoid. The evil monster following you at night? The second you turn around, there is nothing. For Muggles, this is true. For wizards, however… We know what hide in the shadows. What monsters truly do exist."

Harry shivered. But Snape wasn't done. "In the early days, when wizards first started creating their ancient civilisations, they spoke of whispers in the dark—"

"That's the Lord of the Rings," Harry protested. "I read that book when I was little."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Even Muggles are perceptive," was all he had to say on that subject. "Don't interrupt. They spoke of whispers in the dark, of demons lurking just out of sight, hiding themselves in the blind spot in the corner of our eye. Magic was created and reshaped to detect such things, which is why we are rarely caught by surprise these days. Everyone can see a Dementor now, can't they? The legends about Death, walking in among mortal folk in a black robe carrying a scythe. Even the Magical World is something that, to an extent, only exists 'out of the corner of your eye'. Muggles can't detect it.

"Much knowledge from those ancient times is lost. There are few manuscripts that have survived to this day and age. It just so happens that Perception Filters and Obscurity Charms is a branch of magic that scholars have clung to throughout the ages. If it is because it has always been such an elusive subject to grasp, I don't know."

Harry's mind was whirling. He wasn't sure he understood everything Snape had just said, but he could grasp most of it. "So…someone made sure I couldn't see I had an earring?"

Snape nodded shortly. "By extent, everyone else. I should have seen it. I sensed something, but I didn't know what. And because it felt uncomfortable, because it was something I didn't want to see, I didn't. The very principle Perception Filters is based on.

"And so since you didn't know you had an earring, it would have been rather easy to hide an Obscuration-type based Ward inside it. You would have been as safe as if you were with your relatives."

"But…why don't everyone use them, then? I could've—"

"Because they are unreliable, and unpredictable. At most, they should only be allowed to remain active for seventeen days. After that…they tend to root."

"As in not come off?" Harry panicked. "Snape, take it off—!"

Snape grabbed Harry's hands, held them firm in his own. "Harry. I would bet almost all of my books on that the stone in your ear is a diamond. Hardest substance known to man. Once removed, it will most likely 'disappear'."

 _Go somewhere we can't see 'cause we don't want to_ , Harry mentally filled in.

"This earring made it safe for you to venture wherever you wanted this summer. It is by no means a perfect solution. A strong enough wizard would be able to detect it and see through it." Snape looked particularly angry with himself at that. "I _should_ have seen it," he hissed.

"It's not your fault, sir," Harry whispered.

"So therefore I am blameless and without guilt?" Snape snorted.

"Derek says so."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Blasted Muggle." Taking a deep breath, Snape then resumed his lecture as if he hadn't detoured. "Perception walks hand in hand with Obscurity. An object placed outside of your perception, then hid in obscurity is difficult, almost impossible, to find. But to place a person, a _boy_ , in such a field… You have magic, Harry. And magic is complicated, alive and sentient in a way few understand. It would've helped keep you safe, kept you secret.

"The reason most shy away from that type of magic is not because it's difficult to perform. It's almost too easy, child's play. It's setting parameters, predicting every possible outcome and eventuality that is the tricky part. How far should the Perception Filter extend, to what end shall the object its perception it alters be Obscured. The Arithmetical formulas are endless and convoluted.

"And while Albus is powerful and intelligent, even he can't calculate everything."

Harry twisted his hands around until he could hold Snape's hands properly, it felt right weird, but not enough that he wanted to let go. "What d'you mean?"

"How do you think the Dark Lord reacted to your abrupt disappearance?"

"I dunno. Don't imagine he was too happy 'bout it, though." As far as Harry could tell, Snape wasn't even Summoned that often. He went away maybe once a month, if that often.

"That is an understatement. From what I have been able to suss out, the Dark Lord abducted your Aunt sometime between your birthday and Halloween. He saved her blood, then performed a little ritual of his own."

"He killed her?" Harry felt strangely numb.

Snape shook his head. "Curiously, no. Returned her nearly drained of blood, but alive. I have been trying to figure out why ever since. Albus has not been of much help in that department either." Snape rubbing his thumbs over the back of Harry's hands like that was awfully soothing. "I would imagine the Dark Lord was furious when he realised that so many had forgotten about you. From what Albus told me, he only intended to Obscure your scar from people who would do you harm. So he used the Dark Mark as an anchor, of sorts. At that point, you were only hidden from Death Eaters. People who wanted to harm you wouldn't be able to _see_ that you were Harry Potter. Albus should have removed it the instant you returned to Hogwarts, I—"

"Why didn't he?"

Snape pursed his lips. "I don't know. But by that point, your magic had already begun interacting with the Obscurity Ward, altering it. Perhaps even playing on your own desires and secrets. People were forgetting you were the Boy-Who-Lived, but they still remembered Harry Potter if they had met you."

Harry frowned. "What d'you mean, my wishes?"

Looking straight in Harry's eyes, Snape said two words. Two simple words that tied a knot in Harry's stomach. "'Just Harry'?"

Pale and wide-eyed, Harry looked away. "Oh."

Snape squeezed Harry's hands, and picked up from where he had left off. "Do you understand why it's so dangerous?"

Harry nodded.

"Albus' intentions were to keep you secret, keep you safe, hidden and protected. That much he succeeded, I'd say. He shouldn't have fucking done it," Snape hissed.

Harry started. Snape swearing was…bad. Snape never swore. He used words Harry couldn't understand, but he didn't swear. Did he?

"The Dark Lord took his revenge by making sure _no one_ would remember a single detail about you. _No one,_ and he made doubly sure that anyone who you cared about you would have no clue that you even existed. I believe he did the ritual in two stages, most likely so that he wouldn't attract Albus' attention. Over the course of the summer until the first of September, he made sure that everyone who had previously cared for you forgot about you entirely. By the time Halloween came around, he attempted to remove your existence entirely. He is vain. If Albus hadn't…" Snape shook his head. "It shouldn't have taken me months to find out."

"Why didn't you know? You're a Death Eater. You spy. Why didn't you know?" Harry's voice was hoarse.

"I'm his Potions Master, not his informant," Snape said stiffly. " _That_ role goes to Lucius Malfoy."

Wetting his lips, Harry squirmed a little closer to Snape. "So…Volemort—" One of Snape's hands tensed, squeezing hard enough to hurt at the mention of the name. The only outward reaction that the name bothered him. "—so he took my, my Aunt's blood and, and… He made Ron hate me?"

"He made Mr Weasley and the rest of your friends forget," Snape corrected. "To them, you would have been a new student. A transfer from another school. You told me Longbottom tried to make friends?"

"Yeah. He was really shy about it." Harry frowned. "But if they thought I was new—"

"Have you spent any amount of time at all with someone outside of my House, Harry?"

"I…" Harry froze. "I…no. I, thought they all hated me, and Tom… Oh."

"Yes," Snape said, simply.

Right then, right at that moment, Harry wished he was six years old so he could crawl over and cuddle up in Snape's lap. "S'just a huge fucking misunderstanding," Harry gasped.

"Your friends still would have forgotten," Snape reminded Harry sharply. "That wouldn't have changed. We would have known sooner, though. And perhaps we might have been able to detect your earring."

"And we wouldn't have forgotten again," Harry filled in, voice a shaky whisper. "Snape?"

"Yes?"

"Can you take it out?"

Instead of answering, Snape let go of Harry's hands and cupped the boy's jaw, before moving his hands to Harry's left ear. "I used to have an earring when I was your age," Snape murmured as he expertly, and painlessly, removed the stud from Harry's ear. "Dad thought I was a pouf, of course."

Harry couldn't help the nervous laugh that escaped him. "Were you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Snape raised an eyebrow, his eyes amused. "No. Most assuredly not. But it aggravated him. That was reason enough." Raising his wand, Snape summoned an empty leather box the size of Harry's fist. Snape put the earring inside, locked it, then levitated it over to sit on the mantelpiece. "Well, the girls liked it too."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I hear blokes like tattoos and tongue piercings."

"I might accidentally remove your tongue entirely if you ever come home with a piece of metal through your tongue," Snape said, tone dry but amused.

"If I get one in my nipple, you'd never know," Harry blurted.

Snape grinned. "Then you had best refrain from practising your Animagus transformation in my presence, hadn't you?"

Harry laughed again. Then a thought struck him. "Hey, now that I've got a hole in my ear anyway, can I keep it?"

Snape blinked. "You're asking for permission?"

Harry nodded. "Charlie thought you were my dad, you know, and Derek says you've done me a heap of good," Harry said slyly, heart hammering in his chest.

Snape snorted, but he didn't look an ounce averse to the idea – and Harry was looking _very_ closely. "If I were your dad, I would have corrected that horrible disarray you call hair years ago."

"Hair products don't work. Hermione's tried everything."

"I would've invented a potion," Snape muttered. Harry laughed. "If I were your dad," Snape continued slowly, "then I would have forbidden Albus from having so much free access to you years ago. Under any other circumstances, he would have needed permission from a parent for half of the things he's exposed you to over the years."

Heart in his throat, Harry haltingly asked, "Would you?"

Snape narrowed his eyes and shot Harry a calculating look. "Would I what?"

Harry studiously refused to look at Snape as he picked at a loose thread by the hem of his jumper. "Be my dad?" he asked, feeling almost lightheaded.

"Harry," Snape started, voice tight and controlled.

"I know!" Harry blurted. "I've been over _everything_ in my head, over and over. I've thought about it from every angle I could come up with. But then, yesterday, Charlie pointed out the most important bits. You care about me, you look after me, you protect me, you don't lie. You keep me safe and warm and happy and you let me have a _home_! A room that's mine! You let me be me, just me. You don't expect me to, to be something I'm not. You bought me clothes and books and _my glasses_. You _care_ , you said so!" Harry stubbornly pointed out, chin jutting out just enough for Snape to be unable to avoid noticing it. Abruptly, Harry's eyes narrowed and his shoulders slumped. "Oh. Oh, I mean, if you don't think I'm good enough—"

"Don't go there," Snape snapped at once. "I care, as I've said more than once. All I have done this past term is provide you with the stable environment that is your right. Nothing more."

"No one ever did that before."

Snape looked blank. His jaw twitched. "A cat animagus."

Harry twitched. "I'm not a stray, Snape," Harry grumbled. "Just, just say it if you don't want me, I'll—"

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't want you, Harry?" Snape brushed Harry's fringe away from falling into his eyes. "I've said it before, haven't I? People must be mad not to. If I ever had a son, I wouldn't mind terribly much if he turned out to be like you."

"Gay and all?" Harry pointed out.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Was there ever any doubt? Must have been the earring from my youth."

"Hey! What d'you mean, no doubt?"

Snape's grin was nasty. "Tell me honestly you never crushed on Wood."

Harry scowled. "Bugger."

"Or Lupin, for that matter, disturbing though the thought is."

"He was cute!" Harry defended himself. "I mean, no! I didn't, not on him! He was kind, and he, um. Gave me chocolate?" finished lamely. "And, you know, everyone's got a crush on a teacher at some point anyway. I bet you fancied McGonagall, didn't you?"

Snape merely shrugged. "There is something to be said about a woman in charge."

—x—

That very same afternoon, after a big lunch Snape'd cooked with Harry acting the diligent helper, Harry had, with Snape's permission, Floo'd to Diagon Alley. He was also sporting long hair and brown eyes, carrying an emergency Portkey on a chain around his neck, because Snape was paranoid like that. So, yeah, Snape had reasoned that even with the earring gone, it was still relatively safe for Harry to venture out into Muggle London one last time.

It took Harry no time at all to disappear into Muggle London and find the kind of shop he was looking for.

The girl behind the counter had more piercings in her face than Harry had fingers, and that wasn't even counting the ears, but she still gave him a brilliant smile that Harry was helpless but return.

"Hi," he said, "I'm looking for an earring made out of titanium."

"Did you lose it?" she quipped even as she showed him over to a large glass case on the wall.

Harry grinned. "Is it cheaper if I did?"

"Sorry, kid. Now, what're you after?"

So Harry showed her his ear, told her what he wanted and let her hum and hem over it. "So you're not looking for another piercing, then?"

When Harry hesitated, the girl's grin grew in proportions. "Oh, this is fab!"

Harry told her, "My guardian said he might accidentally cut out my tongue if I came home with a piece of metal through it."

She presented him with her right ear. "See anything you like?"

Harry stared. "I didn't know you could have earrings in some of those spots."

She laughed. "Well?"

"That one," Harry decided, poking the piercing in her ear.

"Rook," she told him.

Harry nodded. "Right, yeah. I want it in the same ear as the other one, and maybe a normal one, too, above it?"

"And your other ear?" She smiled, showing off a ring hanging under her lip. "Nothing at all?"

After a brief moment of hesitation, Harry pointed out two others. "I sort of like those, as well, but…can I really do so many at the same time?"

"That's a snug and a, ah, anti—"

" _Forward_ -helix," someone else called.

"Yeah, clever, Felix!" the girl snapped, then turned back to Harry. "How many is that total? Three?"

Harry shook his head. "Four."

She shrugged. "I'd normally say three, tops. But it really is up to how well you look after yourself. Good immune system?"

"I guess." He wasn't ill all that often. But hadn't Snape said something about his eating disorder having a bad effect on his immune system? Harry couldn't remember. Either way, Harry decided right then that he really wanted his ears pierced. He'd wanted to when he was thirteen, and Ron'd held him back. There was no one to hold him back this time.

"Then it should be okay," she said. "Felix, you got a moment?"

"I'm free 'til four," the same disembodied voice as before called back, which was two hours away.

The girl turned back to Harry, who'd turned to take a closer look on the different rings and studs on display in one of the monitors. "So what do you say? Felix can do you right now if you want."

Harry smirked. "Really? Is he hot?"

She threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, he's all right, but don't tell him I said that. He'd never let me live it down."

She walked away, and Harry followed. There was a small room with white walls and cosy, fluffy furniture behind the counter, a cluttered desk and a rather fit bloke. He was probably in his twenties, tanned, and had the cutest button nose Harry'd ever seen, with a single silver stud glittering on his left nostril. Simply gorgeous. Harry assumed it was Felix. From inside the shop, the door jingled as it was opened.

"And that's my cue," the girl said before skipping out.

Felix shook Harry's hand. "I'm Felix. I do the piercing around here."

"Harry. Hi." Harry's smile was a tad nervous. "She, um, said you'd do me?"

Felix nodded. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Just once, but it was so long ago I don't really remember," Harry lied.

"Mmhm. Well, I never thought it hurt overly much, but I've had customers who say breaking bones hurt less. I think they were lying," he said drily.

"Or maybe they'd never broken a bone," Harry muttered. He sat down on the bed Felix showed him to, through another little doorway into a room that looked more like a hospital room than a piercing studio except for all the posters on the walls.

Laughing, Felix agreed. "So, Harry. What can I do for you?"

"I want piercings," Harry said, and pointed the spots out for Felix.

Felix listened, marked the spots out with a surgical pen, nodded and hummed, then he sat back as Harry observed the places Felix had marked in a mirror. Finally satisfied, Harry firmed his resolve and nodded. "Yes, exactly like that. Two studs and two, three rings?"

"All right," Felix agreed, then brought out the wickedly sharp needles.

And that was how Harry had his very first teenage act of rebellion. He came home with ears that still felt hot, a wide grin on his face and glittering eyes. The piercer had recommended he buy lots and lots of sweets to get his blood pressure up. Harry was feeling suitably giddy when he stumbled out of the fireplace, fairly buzzing with energy. Snape took one look at him, then crooked a finger at him.

"My room, now." Snape's voice was too silky.

Harry looked around, and only then noticed that there was an awful lot of people in Snape's sitting room. "Hi," Harry managed to get out before he was dragged off inside Snape's bedroom.

"Purple's nice," Harry blurted, as the first thing he noticed was that Snape's walls were dark purple, the drapes around his bed an even darker shade. The sheets on the bed and the rugs on the floor were all in different shades of grey. Snape had a cosy little sofa in here, barely large enough for two, as Harry and Snape proved when they both sat down on it. It was facing a tiny little fireplace in a corner. Most of the walls were covered with bookshelves in here as well, and the man's bedside tables – both of them – were piled high with books and scrolls.

Snape tugged Harry's turquoise hat off, cancelled the spell that had lengthened Harry's hair, then twisted Harry's head sharply to the right. Snape was silent as he repeated the process, examining Harry's other ear as well. Bits of silvery metal glinted from both of Harry's ears. The left earlobe had two tiny hoops in it, and a curved bar sat inside Harry's ear, in the part Felix had referred to as the 'Rook'. His right ear had two curved bars, the ones that had been called 'Snug' and 'Forward-Helix'. The first one sat where the ear met the side of his face, just under where his hairline began, and the other on the hard, protruding bit almost directly across from it.

"I sent you out to buy a single piece of jewellery," Snape said, sounding almost casual.

"Got it," Harry said, showing where the ring hung from his left ear.

Snape pursed his lips. "And the remaining four?"

"They were extra!" Harry grinned. "It almost didn't hurt at all, and I got a discount!" Harry's look turned sly. "Are you aggravated?"

"Exasperated," Snape primly corrected. Without moving, he wandlessly and silently Summoned a potion. "Drink this, then I have another we'll soak your ears in tonight. Muggles and their blasted infections," he muttered the last part under his breath. Standing, he hauled Harry up with him. "Come, I have a contingent of Gryffindors in my flat."

* * *

Yes, I got the idea from Dr Who.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes off immediately after where the pervious chapter ended. Therefore, for the first time ever, I'm doing one of those cheesy 'PREVIOUSLY' that you see everywhere (my previously is done in Teal'c-voice à la Stargate SG-1, because he is totally cool):  
>  _  
> "Exasperated," Snape primly corrected. Without moving, he wandlessly and silently Summoned a potion. "Drink this, then I have another we'll soak your ears in tonight. Muggles and their blasted infections," he muttered the last part under his breath. Standing, he hauled Harry up with him. "Come, I have a contingent of Gryffindors in my flat."_

* * *

Harry, of course, promptly sat right back down. He was suddenly very sure that he didn't want to move from where he was sitting on Snape's cramped little sofa.

"Snape…"

Snape raised an eyebrow slightly. "They are all members of the Order. I thought it prudent." Tugging a bit at his waistcoat, Snape sat back down as well.

A part of Harry was thrilled – _way_ more than that, really – but a part of him was also fucking terrified. "No one… Do they…remember?" he asked, voice hushed.

Snape's eyes considered him very closely. "Some, to some extent. Minerva, for example, as we have discussed before. She has only forgotten about the Boy Who Lived. You yourself, pesky little brat that you are, she remembers quite clearly." Snape's voice was dry and heavily amused.

Harry sat up straight, eyes narrowed in indignation. "I am _not_ pesky!"

"No? My mistake," Snape drawled. Then he cleared his voice and reassumed his serious manner. "Harry, they have _all_ forgotten entirely about your moniker—"

"Why didn't you?" Harry interrupted. Harry bit his lip. He hadn't realised it earlier, when him and Snape had first talked about, about…why no one seemed to know who he was any more. "You know. You didn't forget."

Snape's jaw set. "I have the Dark Mark. The others don't. I have been in touch with you periodically since the summer. I would wager it's a combination of the two. If my theory is correct, then most children of the Death Eaters will know who you are as well. The Dark Lord still mentions you when he Summons us."

Harry blinked. "Oh," was all he said.

Snape ran a hand through his hair. While neat, it didn't look as if Snape had bothered to either brush it or wash it recently. Mostly, Harry knew, the man just fixed his hair with either his wand or his fingers. "While the Headmaster _has_ remembered everything about you, I would guess that's because he most likely Obscured you in the first place. Bill Weasley, probably because his position as a Curse Breaker, seems to remember the most of the Order members I asked to join us today."

Harry's throat felt impossibly tight. "Snape?" he whispered. Not necessarily because of what Snape had just said, but rather because of the thought that had just occurred to Harry.

Snape looked a bit startled, then fixed his eyes on Harry. "Yes?"

"If…if no one knows I'm the Boy Who Lived any more, could…could you adopt me, then?"

Snape's eyes widened almost comically.

Harry was studying the non-existent pattern on the rug lying on the floor very intently. "I know you said earlier that you wouldn't mind if, if you had a kid who turned out to be like me, and I was thinking that, that…I'd really like it if you did, so, I was just really wondering if you actually _could_ , I mean, if you want to, 'cause I really _do_ , but," Harry babbled, oblivious to everything going on around him. At least he was right up until the moment where Snape reached out a hand tugged Harry's chin up with a finger.

"I am in the middle of a discussion as to what the various members the Order remember," Snape began, brows furrowed, "while you are busy contemplating becoming a Snape. I am not certain whose priorities are the most straight, here. Did you at least listen to a fraction of what I said?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, "but…I don't care if they don't know I'm the bloody Boy Who Lived. I've always really fucking hated that," he spat. Then he cast a contrite look at Snape, as if to apologise for cussing. Or, perhaps, for what he was about to say. "And, I mean, it sounded like you were sort of rambling anyway," Harry hurriedly added. "And I was just thinking…"

Snape rolled his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his crooked nose in what was, Harry guessed, probably annoyance. "Harry, I was _not_ rambling."

"My point was better," Harry interjected, just a bit sullen.

"From a personal point of view, certainly. From a broader perspective, however…" Snape trailed off meaningfully. "In the long run, I do believe _my_ point was the most pertinent one. Or do you wish to be forgotten by your friends forever?"

Harry nodded, feeling his ears heat up a little. "No, I mean, I don't, but…"

"Yes?"

Harry threw Snape a sly glance. Only his restless hands betrayed his uncertainty; the nervousness that was bubbling inside of him. "I kinda want a dad, too."

Snape cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken. "Yes, well. Perhaps this discussion—"

"But…would you?" Harry interjected, quick as lightning, before Snape could suggest that they'd talk about it later.

Snape shifted a little. "I would not be…averse to the idea. I've said as much before."

Harry beamed at Snape, then shifted as well, until he was slouching properly in his corner of the sofa. Snape merely rolled his eyes.

"Well, then. Where was I?" After a short pause, Snape nodded to himself, then launched back into the 'discussion' he'd been having before. Harry silently wondered if Snape discussed with himself a lot, or if it merely was a glorified way of—

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed, rubbing his thigh as he shot Snape an indignant glare. "What d'you pinch me for?"

"You were not paying attention," Snape said primly. Only his eyes betrayed his amusement. "There is no spell or ritual powerful enough to completely Oblivate an entire nation of people, Harry. Oblivate works only at one person at the time, at close range, and is full of risk if you don't know what you are doing. Even then, it is not a spell that will succeed on everyone it's cast on. A person with strong enough magic can resist it, as can a particular headstrong person, or a skilled Occlumens. What the Dark Lord did was not an Oblivate.

"His ritual made sure that all memory of you was pushed to the very back of everyone's minds. He made sure that thinking of you would make the thinker highly uncomfortable. With the Obscurity put on you removed, I believe your mere presence will start jiggling the memories of your friends."

"You really—" Snape held up a finger. Harry closed his mouth.

"I am not sure, no. In any case, if it does work the way I believe it will, then it will _only_ work on those who felt strongly about you before this whole ordeal was set in motion. A stranger would have no reason to confront the uncomfortable feelings you evoke in them."

Harry felt his hands start to tremble again, worse than they had before. "So… Mrs Weasley might remember me, but…but Lavender won't? We weren't all that…close, and, but she's my _classmate_." He really didn't like that this would, in some fucked up way, let Harry know once and for all just who his 'real' friends had been. Harry wasn't all that sure he was prepared to know. On the one hand, yeah, sure, he'd been missing his friends an awful lot lately. But on the other hand…if someone like Ron or Hermione _still_ didn't remember…

Harry wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with something like that. He most definitely didn't want to.

Snape reached out and took hold of one of Harry's hands. "I can only speculate. In any case, it is not a theory I can put to test in here."

Harry cast a nervous glance at the door, then looked back at Snape. The dark eyes met his stare directly. "Don't leave me," Harry implored in a hushed whisper.

"Try not to be more stupid than you have to be," Snape returned, voice dry. Harry grinned. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, ok."

Snape squeezed Harry's hand, then let go. "You need to bear in mind that even if this succeeds, you cannot expect them to remember everything. Things will have changed, Harry. _You_ have changed. It will not be like it was before."

Harry nodded again. "I know," he whispered. "With Charlie…it was like it was only random bits that came back. He felt like he knew me, but he didn't really get why." He narrowed his eyes. "Hey, what did you tell him, anyway? He was really, you know, _off_ about it."

Snape smirked, his dark eyes taking on a dangerous glint for a moment. "I merely asked what his mother would think of his conduct, nothing more," Snape drawled, voice ever so silky.

 _Right_ , Harry decided with a snort, _there was_ way _more to it than that_.

"Shall we?" Snape asked then and, heart in his throat, Harry nodded.

—x—

The sitting room wasn't large. It had never been, Harry knew, but it felt particularly small when filled with so many adults. There was Mr and Mrs Weasley, standing by one of the many bookshelves, talking softly with Tonks and Shacklebolt. Lupin was sitting on the sofa, looking drawn and tired, together with McGonagall and Bill. Fleur was there, listening to something Charlie was talking about, the two of them sharing an armchair with the ease of close friends. Even Pomfrey was there, though Harry wasn't sure if she was a member of the Order or not. Notably absent was the Headmaster.

Harry felt Snape's hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I tried to recall who you were most close to. Also, I figured the lowest number of redheads, and by default Gryffindors, in my flat, the better." There was a hint of teasing in the man's tone that made Harry smile.

"Severus."

Harry started a bit. Snape looked up, but didn't remove his hand. "Kingsley."

The Auror was standing in front of them, a serious expression on his face as he carefully took Harry in. After a while, he said, "You are right, I feel something. You know who I am?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Auror. You picked me up from my relatives with some other members of the Order before my fifth year. I'm—"

"Harry Potter. So Severus told me. Your eyes are familiar." Shacklebolt gave him one last look, before turning to Snape. "Should I be worried that some of your books appear curiously Warded?"

Snape didn't even twitch. "Impressionable young eyes and curious fingers," he said, not batting an eye at the obvious lie.

To Harry's knowledge, the only books he wasn't allowed to touch were the ones that glowed red when he was about to touch them. Those books, he'd quickly figured out from reading the text on their spines, were about curses, potions and Dark Arts. Quite obviously, if Shacklebolt was anything to go by, they weren't strictly speaking legal. There had never been any _Warded_ books on Snape's shelves before, though.

Harry wondered if the books Snape had in his bedroom were a bit more than merely borderline illegal.

"Hmmm," Shacklebolt said.

Snape changed the subject. "Shall we get this meeting started?"

It took a surprisingly short time to expand the sitting area. There were sofas and armchairs for everyone, and a tea tray or two popped up on the tables, carrying an array of biscuits, scones and other forms of snacks.

Harry found himself sitting between Snape and Lupin.

Lupin had been giving him odd looks. Harry even thought he'd felt the man sniff him, rather discretely, once, but he wasn't sure. What he was sure about, however, was that Snape clearly didn't like that Lupin was sitting so close to Harry. While Snape acted his part as host, Harry found himself leaning back comfortably on the newly transfigured sofa.

"Have we met before? You seem so familiar." Harry tensed at the question, then turned to face Lupin. Lupin was regarding him with friendly eyes and a kind, gentle smile on his face.

"You used to be my teacher."

"Really?"

Harry hesitated, wondering for a short moment what he was supposed to do. Was there even a right or wrong way to 'reintroduce himself'? It was probably the nicest way he could describe what he had to do, but, fancy words or not, that still didn't mean it was in any way easy.

"In third year. My name's Harry Potter," he said.

Lupin blinked. "James' son?"

Harry nodded. "Do you…remember me?" he clutched the sleeves of his too long jumper. It was Snape's, it even had a print of a bubbling cauldron on the back, with a faded text above it.

Now, Harry knew Lupin was a werewolf. It wasn't something that bothered him, or made him afraid. It was just a fact. That still didn't mean he was in any way prepared for Lupin's eyes to flash yellow like that, all of a sudden. Harry started enough that Lupin looked guilty and quickly averted his eyes.

"What was that?" Harry yelped.

"That was my…other part," Lupin said softly.

"Because you're a werewolf?" Harry wondered.

Lupin nodded. He did look faintly surprised, then seemed to remember that Snape had told the entire school about his condition. "It would seem the wolf recognised you, too. Well, your scent, most probably. It's most peculiar. I clearly recognise you, I know you're James' son, but—"

"You've no idea who I am. Can't remember," Harry filled, voice subdued.

"Exactly." Lupin's tone matched Harry's exactly. The man smiled, then. It was both a gentle and sad smile. "The wolf in me thinks I'm an idiot for not knowing who you are."

"Perhaps because you clearly are, Lupin," Snape interrupted. Harry shot the man a glare that went unnoticed, because Snape was sending a glare of his own at Lupin.

"So what is this about, Severus?" That was Mr Weasley.

Much to his own chagrin, Harry found he had to force himself to look at the Weasley parents. It wasn't so much that he was afraid of them, or didn't like them. No, nothing like that. It was more that he didn't want to see blank faces staring back at him without an ounce of recognition in them.

This was a terrible idea.

But Snape was next to him. Snape said he was going to stay with him, not matter what. For probably the first time in his life, Harry consciously took strength in the knowledge that an _adult_ was there for him, to protect his interests and look out _for_ him as well as _after_ him.

"This meeting is about Harry Potter. What do you know about him?"

At first, there was a terrible, awful, _bloody horrible_ moment of silence.

"He's James and Lily's boy," Lupin said then, in that soft, hoarse voice of his.

"Yes," Snape agreed, with a touch of sarcasm. "And six years ago he began his first year here at Hogwarts, and was promptly sorted into Gryffindor."

Mrs Weasley was frowning rather heavily. "No, surely my Ron would've mentioned sharing a dorm with the Potters' boy?"

Up until that moment, Harry hadn't known that Snape hadn't talked about how everyone had forgotten him. But the look of shock on McGonagall's face told him. It was mirrored on Pomfrey's.

"But Potter, Weasley and Granger were thick as thieves!" McGonagall exclaimed, her Scottish brogue way thicker than it had ever been in class. "They had a fallout over the summer, but surely, Molly! The boy must have spent time at your house on numerous occasions!"

Harry suddenly sprung up from the sofa and sprinted off to his room. He thought he heard Snape call out for him, but he ignored it in favour of sorting through his ever sparse closet. Harry was back in the sitting room in no time, sitting on the sofa next to Snape, a bit closer than he had been sitting before. In his hands he clutched a green knitted jumper.

"You used to make one of these for me each Christmas, Mrs Weasley," Harry said. Slowly, he held up the jumper. That one had a golden snitch on the front.

Mrs Weasley stared. Mr Weasley was frowning.

"You'd send me some of your homemade fudge, too. I used to beg Dumbledore each summer that I could stay with you, and usually he let me after I'd stayed a month with the Dursleys first. You always complained about that, 'cause you didn't think they fed me properly, and I was always too skinny.

"Then, before fourth year, Mr Weasley let me and Hermione come with you for the Quidditch World Cup. It was the first time I met Bill and Charlie." By then, Harry was clutching the jumper, now in a crumpled heap in his lap, so tight his knuckles had turned white.

Again, the oppressive silence wore heavily on Harry's frayed nerves.

This time, it was rather unexpectedly Fleur who broke the silence. "You were ze little boy in ze TriWizard completion, no? Saved my Gabrielle?"

Harry felt too numb to do anything but nod.

At least, he was feeling too numb until Snape reached out and stilled Harry's fidgeting hands by simply placing a hand over them. Harry didn't mind very much right then, even if holding Snape's hand made him feel weird and warm and wanted all at once; right then, there was no force on earth that could make him let go of Snape's hand.

"Yeah," he whispered, "that's right."

"Oh, that awful competition!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "I'll never understand—! What was Albus thinking? The dragons!"

"Mum, don't you remember? It was Harry who went up against the Hungarian Horntail," Charlie asked.

Harry didn't remember telling Charlie that. Maybe Fleur had jogged his memory. He hoped so.

"I don't know about Bill, but I think you mentioned Harry at least once a month when you wrote letters to me," Charlie continued.

At that, Bill suddenly sat up straighter. "Yeah. I knew that." Bill narrowed his eyes. "Professor, are you saying that someone made us all forget about a kid?"

Snape merely inclined his head.

"But that's, that's barbaric!" Mrs Weasley sputtered.

"Why would anyone do that?" Lupin wondered.

At first Snape didn't say anything, then he tugged his hand free. Well, Harry let it go after several tugs and a pointed glare. Now unhindered, Snape reached over and brushed Harry's wayward fringe off his forehead. "Do any of you recall ever seeing, or hearing of this scar before?"

"I feel like I should," Lupin answered. He was studying the scar with scrutinising eyes. "It's…from a curse, isn't it?"

Bill left his armchair and went around the table. He crouched in front of Harry. "May I?" he asked.

Harry blinked, then looked at Snape. "Yes," Snape said. So Harry nodded.

"Okay, good. I'm just gonna take a look at it, all right? Poke around a bit with my wand, nothing that should hurt."

"Okay. Sure." Snape had said it was okay, so Harry simply had to believe that he knew what he was talking about.

Bill's fingers were warm and dry, just a bit rough. When he touched Harry's scar, it sent a tingle down his spine. Harry couldn't help but shiver. With his thumb and forefinger at each point of the lightning bolt, Bill brought up his wand.

"Some think this feels a bit weird, others don't feel a thing, okay, kid? Basically, it's a diagnostic of the scar itself. Being dead tissue, scars normally have reduced sensitivity. Do you know what I mean?"

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure if the scar on his forehead always worked liked that, but he'd noticed that the scar on his arm, from when the basilisk bit him, felt a bit…dead whenever he touched it.

"Good. That's why what I'm about to do doesn't really hurt or anything, but can feel a bit strange, like I said," Bill concluded. He tapped Harry's scar twice, then incanted a long string of Latin.

Harry froze. It didn't hurt. It paralysed him. For a moment, Harry was afraid he couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. Couldn't blink. He couldn't fell anything. It felt like he was choking. He was moments away from panicking.

As abruptly as it had started, Harry's senses and feelings all came rushing back to him. Suddenly, he could breathe again, and Harry sobbed down great mouthfuls of wonderful air into his lungs. Snape had an arm around him and was rubbing his back.

"That's…"

"Yes?" Snape raised an eyebrow. Of course, _he_ knew what Bill's spell had told him. Harry did too, or at least he thought he did.

"About fifteen years ago, someone cast the Avada Kedavra on him, and bounced right off because of the protection runes and a complex charm I can't identify, that someone placed on him moments before the curse hit."

At that, Snape sat up straighter. "There is something under the scar?"

Bill nodded. "Yeah. I don't know what, but I'm guessing whoever did it knew someone was coming after them."

Harry's mum had known he was going to die. She had known Voldemort was going to kill him. "Mum saved me," he whispered.

"Lily always was very good with Charms," Harry heard McGonagall say softly. "Her stubbornness knew no bounds."

"Are you saying Mum came up with a spell that defeated Avada Kedavra? I thought that was impossible."

McGonagall smiled at him. "I would not be the least bit surprised if she figured out a way to counteract it. She loved you very much."

"There are old texts that talk about it," Bill added. "Egyptian, Mesopotamian, Babylonian. Fragments are all that's left of them. The magic was different in their time, of course, but some of the inscriptions mention how mothers sometimes defeated the 'ultimate enemy'. Of course, we don't really know what that is, but some think it was Death. Most of it's just speculation. But to someone who's desperate to find a way to protect a kid…" Bill trailed off.

"The impossible becomes possible," Snape murmured.

Clearing his throat, Harry sat up a bit straighter. "I, um. This is a bit off topic, but…do all of you remember my parents?" It was a bit of a topic changer, yes, but considering how many times someone or other had mentioned his parents, Harry's curiosity was definitely peaked. "But you've no idea who I am?"

"It certainly appears that way," Shacklebolt said. "For those of us who knew your parents. So, Severus, why have you called us?"

Same question as before, but different. And Harry answered before Snape had even had the chance to open his mouth. "Because everyone's forgotten who I am."

Sitting up a bit straighter, not that Snape ever slouched – at least not in public; just when he thought Harry wasn't looking – the man cleared his throat, once. "This is what I have observed." Then he lectured for a very long time.

At least, it sounded like a lecture to Harry. The way Snape presented the facts, the terminology, the old magic and what theories Snape had collected made it all sound like a very well researched lecture at a University. Didn't exactly help matters none, either, that all of the members of Order were listening very carefully, serious expressions on their faces. Some, like Bill, Lupin and Shacklebolt, were even taking notes.

Harry had heard it all before, and found that while, yeah, he _was_ listening, he just wasn't listening as attentively as he had the first time. His ears were both feeling warmer than he was used to, but they weren't smarting any more. He silently wondered the wisdom of letting himself be talked into doing so many new piercings at the same time. Not that he would let anyone talk him into taking them out, oh no, not now that he finally had them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bill sit up a bit straighter at the mention of Obscuration Wards and Perception Filters. As a Curse Breaker working with Ancient Egyptian artefacts, Harry figured Bill knew more about magic like that than anyone else here, except maybe Snape. Snape seemed to be the kind of man who was not only extremely intelligent, but also sucked up knowledge like a sponge, and on top of it all knew how to put it all to use.

Snape was coming to a close on his lecture, so Harry drew himself out of his thoughts and tried to look like he'd been paying attention the entire time. It didn't work, because just seconds later there was a familiar pinch on his thigh.

"Ow!" he hissed. "I was listening earlier!"

"Nevertheless, it would not hurt you to pay attention, Harry." Snape gave him a sort of mild glare, then added something that he hadn't said when speaking to Harry earlier. "Do any of you recall the Daily Prophet writing articles early this summer about Tom Riddle and Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, I do," Charlie said.

"Me, too," Bill agreed. "I was in Egypt at the time. I wonder, d'you think my being so far away would've diminished the effects?"

If he was completely honest. Harry himself had sort of forgotten about those articles as well. He hadn't read them though, and figured it was because of that he didn't remember. It had been Malfoy who'd told him about them. From what he could recall, the articles had been comparisons between himself and Riddle, their parentage, Parseltongue abilities, as well as somewhat disturbingly similar childhoods.

"It is possible," Snape agreed. "The ritual the Dark Lord performed is still unknown to me."

Harry noticed Snape hadn't told them what he had told Harry: That Snape didn't know, because Voldemort hadn't even told him that there had been a ritual. It should have occurred to him before, but it hadn't until just then, and the thought popped out of his mouth before he could stop it, "Does he know you're really on our side?"

Snape's only outward reaction was a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps," was all he said.

"Ah!" that was Lupin, his loud and unexpected exclamation drawing everyone's attention, which appeared to fluster the man. "Oh, sorry! I just remembered, Harry, I taught you the Patronus, didn't I?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, you did. And gave me about a ton of chocolate, too."

"Are you sure, Severus?" Shacklebolt steered them back to the subject.

Snape lifted a shoulder. "I cannot be. There are many reasons why I would not have been informed of this ritual. Which one applies in this situation, I do not know. It has been quite some time since I was last requested to brew a potion. He mostly asks for updates on the on-goings of the castle. Grapevine gossip.

"On a related note, you might try approaching Lucius Malfoy for more relevant information. According to Harry, his son is now playing both sides. Perhaps it might be worth looking into?"

Harry stiffened a bit. "But, I just said Malfoy wasn't being a git! He's been a lot of help, yeah, but you were the one who said Malfoys were real slippery, Snape! You know, doing whatever they got the most out of."

"If Lucius Malfoy was truly against it, his son would not have dared to step out of line," Shacklebolt filled in. "Families like the Malfoys are very loyal to themselves. Draco Malfoy would have been unable to keep something like this from his father."

Then Mrs Weasley spoke up. "Should we really be discussing such matters with the boy here?"

"Nothing he does not already know, Molly," Snape said smoothly.

"He's just a boy!"

"Again, he already knows," Snape drawled.

"It's okay, Mrs Weasley," Harry added, even though he knew that it wouldn't matter what _he_ said, because in Mrs Weasley's eyes, he'd always be a kid, whether she knew him or not.

Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes at him. Then all air seemed to leave her as she paled. "Oh!" she gasped, eyes wide. "You saved my Ginny!"

"I…yeah."

"Oh, oh! Harry! I… But you were such a little boy!"

"I grew up," Harry made himself say, even though his throat felt really dry.

Mrs Weasley waved the explanation away. "Don't be stupid. Come here, dear, I need to have a closer look at you."

The meeting changed a bit after that. Some of the members of the Order withdrew to talk inside Snape's kitchen, which was possibly the smallest room in the entire flat. Charlie and Bill drifted over to one of Snape's many bookshelves, while Harry, Lupin and Mrs Weasley relocated to the original sofa in the flat. Harry, somehow, ended up sitting between the adults.

He strongly suspected it was a cleverly executed scheme.

"Let me look at you, then," Mrs Weasley whispered. Harry felt his face heat up when she placed her hands on his cheeks and tilted his face to look at her. "You do have such lovely eyes, my dear."

"Thanks."

Mrs Weasley's warm eyes twinkled. "A killer with the ladies, hmmm?"

Much to Harry's eternal frustration, he felt his ears heat up. "Um, I don't really care about that," he said.

"Oh?" Mrs Weasley raised her eyebrows. Then she smiled and seemed to shrug it off. "Now, where do I know you from?"

"I'm Ron's best mate. Or, well. I used to be…'till everyone forgot. I spent a couple of weeks at the Burrow every year, almost, except for the two last summers. I loved it there."

"Skin and bones, boy. You were always skin and bones from how those dreadful Muggles treated you," she muttered.

Harry's eyes widened a little. "Do you remember me?"

A frustrated expression appeared on Mrs Weasley's face, then. "I want to. Oh, dear Harry, I dearly want to. But something, like a mist, is in the way and the more I try to push it aside, the denser it gets."

"Just keep pushing, Mum," Charlie called from where he was talking with Bill. "The harder I tried, the easier it got."

Harry's heart leaped into his throat. Twisting free from Mrs Weasley's grip, he turned and stared straight at Charlie. "You remember now? Me? Last summer? What we did—" Maybe he was sounding a bit too hopeful, but Harry really couldn't help it. For the longest time, the absolute silence from Charlie had hurt him the worst.

It was a hurt that was different from any other kind of hurt he'd been through before. One he hadn't experienced before, or expected to.

"Hey!" Charlie exclaimed. "Yeah, I mean, I'm sort of starting to remember bits and pieces, more and more, but mostly it's just what you told me about when I visited yesterday. And the films we saw, now, why that came back I don't know, 'cause I wasn't trying to remember that."

"Maybe because you loved the films? You wouldn't shut up about them." Harry's look turned a little sly. "Unless, _you_ _know_ , we did that _thing_."

"Harry. Shut up. Please."

Harry suddenly grinned and sat a little straighter. "So Snape was telling the truth, then?" he mused.

Could it be, really? Charlie was most scared of his mum finding out he'd sort of had it off with Harry? More, even, than having the wrath of the Potions Master invoked on him?

Charlie's glare was a little sullen, a little childish, and a little amused. "Depends on what he said, right?"

"Something about Mum finding out something, perhaps?" Bill filled in, his tone just a little too hard and serious. "Like, say, dating a kid under seventeen?"

"Charlie Weasley!" Mrs Weasley exploded at once, shooting up and away from the sofa.

Charlie's hands went to his hips. "There is _nothing_ illegal about dating _anyone_ who's over sixteen!"

"You are twenty-four years old, young man!" Mrs Weasley snapped. "You're an adult. _You_ are supposed to know better."

"Oh, he did," Harry muttered, face hidden in his hands. His comment went ignored by everyone, except Lupin, who glanced sharply at him.

Mrs Weasley went on, clearly not ready to be interrupted yet. "Shall I take your response as this is something you do a lot? Lure young, innocent boys, like our Harry here, into _debauchery_ and _disgrace_?"

Harry's heart lurched at the 'our Harry' bit that seemed to appear on Mrs Weasley's tongue as natural as it had always done. Of course, his heart promptly dropped again at the end of her sentence.

"No!" Charlie snapped, his face red. "I've told you about _every_ bloody boyfriend I ever had, Mum! I never kept it from you, 'cause I knew it was something you had to get used to! I knew it made you uncomfortable, and don't even try and denying it! I told you, _every time_ , so that, maybe, when it _mattered_ , you'd be happy for me!"

Every word felt like a slap in Harry's face.

"Harry and I were together for a month and a half. Three months, and I'd have told you about him, too," Charlie finished. "I _never_ kept anything from you."

"Why, I never—!" Mrs Weasley sputtered. "I always kept an open mind for my children, Charlie Weasley! A mother hardly expects her son to drag home boys to show off instead of girls. But I tried. I did the best I could to treat you and Bill the same." Mrs Weasley's eyes hardened. "My own mother would have kicked you out."

Even from where Harry was still sitting on the sofa, he could see how Charlie reeled back at that last stinging remark.

"I love my children too much. So, I decided I was willing to treat you as I always had." Mrs Weasley put her hands on her hips, and for a moment, Charlie and her looked rather a lot alike. Mrs Weasley's eyes softened. "I do try, dear, it just isn't easy."

"I know, Mum," Charlie voice matched hers. "But you know me. You know I'd never do anything I shouldn't. I'm an adult. And, yeah, maybe dating Harry last summer wasn't exactly the smartest thing I've ever done, but… I was happy, while it lasted. We both were."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, mostly to himself, "while it lasted."

Mrs Weasley turned puzzled eyes to Harry. "What do you mean, dear?"

It was Bill who answered. "Charlie forgot, too, Mum. Forgot he had something to tell you, forgot he even knew Harry."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed.

Mrs Weasley looked torn between looking sorry for Harry, and stern at Charlie. "He is still only sixteen." Her countenance darkened. "Charlie Weasley, tell me you did not—!"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, shooting to his feet. "No, we didn't! Not! Ever. Promise."

Harry sat down again when Lupin pulled him down. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Lupin gave him a quick smile, then began rubbing Harry's back.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

Slowly, Harry found himself relaxing as Lupin continued to rub his back. "Lupin?"

"You were Sirius' Godson, Harry. I cared about you as if you had been mine. I know I'm not around much, but I do care," Lupin said calmly. "It came to me just now."

Some of the tension left Harry. "Oh."

"I have been wondering for months why I kept feeling like something was missing," Lupin continued, coming off rather wistful. "I guess I know now."

Harry felt his heart fill with warmth, and he smiled.

"But, you were in London last summer, too?" Harry asked.

Lupin frowned a little. "Yes, but I'm not sure… I remember I had a hard time placing you, but I don't think I had forgotten you yet. You were just very elusive. Probably from the Obscuration and Perception Filter."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Snape said it was really dangerous and unpredictable. But, you know, I don't remember what I did after I left Hogwarts. I don't remember going back to my relatives, or even to Grimmauld Place. But there I was, all summer, and I never stopped to think how odd it was. I ran around half of London, just doing whatever."

A hint of something that might have been disapproval shadowed Lupin's eyes for a moment. "Like going out with…Charlie."

Harry stilled, feeling suddenly as if he had to be very careful. "I'm gay. Does that bother you?"

"It is…different," Lupin said, his tone carefully even.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, of course it is! D'you know how long it took before I could even say it out loud? Or how long I went around feeling like there was something wrong with me, like I didn't belong? I get now that being with Charlie probably wasn't the brightest thing I could've done, but without him I'd still be completely lost. He made me feel comfortable about myself, and he let me ask questions and just be _me_. If it'd been Ron instead of him, Ron would have pushed girls at me 'till I screamed and hit someone. Ron wouldn't even let me get an earring because he thought it was gay!"

Of course, there had been more to it than that, and numerous sessions with Derek, but point of fact was that if Charlie hadn't been around to help Harry understand that, yeah, he was still an ordinary bloke, just like he'd always been, Harry might still have been floundering in the dark. Well, if he hadn't had Snape, that was.

Snape was great like that.

Lupin's eyes were still a little troubled, but he didn't say anything more on the subject.

That complete silence was, in a way, worse to Harry.

"Ron thinks earrings on blokes are gay?" Bill asked.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. Guess you didn't count, though. I dunno."

The sitting room felt too oppressive to Harry right then. He wanted to go to the kitchen and make himself a cup of tea with loads of milk and honey in it, but he couldn't because even in the kitchen he wouldn't be alone.

Bill's grin was just a little wry. "Well, to tell the truth, I only got the earring because girls think it's hot."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, Snape said something like that, too."

Bill and Charlie both looked like there was something stuck in their throats. " _Snape?_ " Bill sputtered.

Harry grinned. "Oh, yeah. He said it was great for getting girlfriends, _and_ annoying your parents, at the same time. He seemed to find it all awfully neat."

Mrs Weasley let out a heavy puff of air. "Oh, yes, that much is certainly true."

"Do you still not remember me, Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked.

Mrs Weasley frowned a little. "I'm not sure. I feel like I do." She was sitting down on the sofa again, next to Harry, and she reached out and cupped his face in her warm hands. Just like she had done before. "It's your eyes, dearie, they pull me in."

"Have you tried talking to your friends?" Lupin wondered.

Harry was careful to sit very still, because the attention Mrs Weasley was paying him right then made him feel as if he couldn't move. He felt warm right down to his toes. He answered Lupin without turning around. "No, not really. During the summer, I was," he trailed off. "Well, I might've been a bit depressed. There was too much stuff going on in my head, and I had a hard time sorting the mess out. I didn't think too much of it at the time – Ron and Hermione going off all the time, I mean – because I was too busy, um. Sorting myself out. I just thought they were dating or something, making the most of the summer.

"But when we got back to school…" Harry wet his lips and looked Mrs Weasley straight in the eye. "They still wouldn't talk to me. I know Neville tried a little, but he didn't put much effort in. At the time, what with…that thing that happened with Charlie, I was a bit…down. Spent all my time with Tom, who's a first year Slytherin."

"Wait a minute, Harry," Mrs Weasley interrupted. "What thing?"

"We dated?" Harry ventured, heart pounding beneath his breastbone. It was really hard to tell if she disapproved or not, except that she was a little too tense, and her eyes a little too hard. "I went back to school, and suddenly he was all distant?"

"Hmmmm," Mrs Weasley said, not sounding very convinced.

"So, Snape and I think because I basically spent all my time with the Slytherins, my House sort of assumed I was a 'traitor to the cause'. To them I would've been a new student, exchange student or something. And in their eyes I'd go from being newly sorted in Gryffindor, to completely shunning them and spending all my time in the dungeons with, and I quote, 'slimy snakes'. It…didn't go over all that well, I think. They were all rather annoyed with me."

On purpose, Harry left out the bit where he had been systematically bullied and shunned from his dorm. Didn't mention the frequent attempts to get into his trunk, or to keep him from his bed. To this day, he still had no idea why that had happened, or even who had done it.

"What it all comes down to is that I haven't talked to Ron or Hermione since school let out last year," Harry finished. "I've been living with Snape most of this term."

Mrs Weasley stiffened suddenly. "Severus isn't a deviant, is he? A 'homosexual'? She pronounced the word as if it were made up of foreign syllables she really had no business taking into her mouth. Harry frowned, feeling as if he should be wary. Mrs Weasley continued before Harry could come up with something to say. "Has he been touching you?" she inquired stiffly.

"Mum!" Charlie exclaimed, red-faced.

Harry paled so rapidly it looked like the colour had apparated from his face to Charlie's. " _What the fuck_? Mrs Weasley—!"

"I merely—!"

"NO!" Harry sputtered, face now red with indignation. "You've no right! Snape's great, you know? He's taken care of me, looked after me, made sure I didn't _fucking kill myself_ 'cause I couldn't keep _anything_ down! He's my _professor_! I bloody want him to be my dad, and you—? Ugh!" Harry almost shouted, then shot up from the sofa. "I don't believe you!"

"It's a legitimate concern, Harry." Mrs Weasley snapped. "You are a child. You say you are….like my Charlie, and that you have been living in close quarters with a male member of the faculty. It's a natural cause of worry."

"No, it's not! You'd never have asked if I hadn't said I was gay, and you know it!" Harry cried out. "That's just your stupid old fashioned prejudices, Mrs Weasley! I'm just _gay_! I don't want to bugger every bloke I see. I'm not a pervert going after little kids. I don't blow my teachers for extra credits. _And Snape is my professor_! It's— that's just _sick_ and _wrong_ and fucking _insulting_!" Harry was panting at the end of his tirade, ears throbbing as the piercings made themselves known. "I'm just as normal as any other kid out there."

Feeling a strong urge to hide, but not really willing to admit to that, Harry slipped past where Lupin was sitting still, eyes wide, and disappeared inside the bathroom. The bathroom was the most Muggle one Harry had ever encountered at Hogwarts. The bath wasn't sunk down in the floor, or as large as a swimming pool. It was an ordinary Muggle bath, with Muggle-ish plumbing. Granted, it was a bit longer than the bath at the Dursleys had been, but that was probably because Snape was a _very_ tall man.

Standing in front of the sink, Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, also Muggle. "I'm _not_ a freak," he whispered. "There is nothing wrong with me. I deserve to be a kid. A happy, normal kid."

Derek and Snape, both of them in their own, unique ways, had taught him that. It was slowly sinking in, but that mantra he had taken to repeating whenever he felt a bit down, or started to question himself.

Or when someone questioned him.

Harry turned the taps, mixing cold and warm water until he found something comfortably lukewarm. Then he washed his face, over and over, until he felt clean, awake and the itchy feeling in his skin was gone. The rush of water and the repeated rinses and drained away the sound of someone pounding on the door. Long ago, back when Harry was still having a rough time keeping anything down, Snape had made sure, somehow, that the bathroom couldn't be magically tampered with.

Nowadays, Harry sort of wished it could be tampered with, because silencing charms while having a nice, lazy wank in the bath? Oh, that would've just about made his day.

Hurriedly drying his face, hair still wet and ripping a little, Harry unlocked the door.

When it slid open – because, of course, only Snape would have a sliding bathroom door – it was to reveal Snape. The dark eyes flitted over Harry's face, then took a quick cursory look at the bathroom behind Harry.

"Were you sick?" Snape inquired. He lifted his wand, touched the wet fringe framing Harry's face and silently dried it.

"No. Angry."

"I heard a commotion."

Harry let out a big huff of annoyance. "Well, Mrs Weasley seems to think you're molesting me or something. Because, you know, _I'm gay_? So everyone is!" he exclaimed, feeling his temper rise all over again.

Snape's dark eyes glittered with something – Harry wasn't sure he wanted to name that emotion. "Did she now," he bit out, tone clipped and carefully even.

Harry shivered.

"You are fine?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I… Just a bit upset, she…"

"While the Weasleys are accepting of Muggles and Muggleborns, both Arthur and Molly hail from old pureblood families."

Looking away, Harry said, "she said her own mother would've tossed Charlie out because he's queer. But…you're a _professor_!" Harry empathised. "A teacher, why—"

"Because it was not that uncommon for teachers to take advantage of their positions in the past," Snape said softly. "The Headmaster has been working diligently for years to dispel such rumours. It was rather different when he was in school, I believe. Older prefects taking advantage of their elevated status. Purebloods in the old days had certain privileges, Harry. Money and power walk hand in hand, after all."

"That's just sick."

"Yes."

The darkness that had been in Snape's eyes before came back. "Now, I will deal with Molly. Perhaps there is someone else whose memory you can kick-start in the meantime?"

Darting out a hand, Harry gripped Snape's wrist before the man could turn away completely. "Snape?"

"Yes?" Snape glanced back over his shoulder.

Harry winked and gave Snape a cheeky grin. "I want a proper dad, not a sugar daddy."

Snape's hand shot out so quick Harry didn't have time to duck before it clipped him over the back of his head.

"Ow! Hey!" Harry protested, trying to straighten out his hair.

"A little less impudence, please," Snape drawled as a parting shot.

By the time Harry felt satisfied that his hair was behaving somewhat so that he could return to the sitting room, both Mrs Weasley and Snape were gone. Lupin was gone, too, but both Fleur and Tonks were back. Once again, Harry wondered how the kitchen could possibly be large enough to house so many people.

"Hiya, Harry!" Tonks greeted loudly, her hair going from yellow to purple to pink. "What d'you say to old Snape to make him drag out Mrs Weasley like that?"

Harry shrugged. "He asked why I'd locked myself in the loo."

"So you actually do tell him everything? I thought you were joking," Charlie said.

Harry shrugged. "Believe it or not, but Snape's actually great to talk to."

Tonks laughed. "It's the same way he's a brilliant potions teacher, then? As students, we don't believe it, but once we're out in the real world… I'll just say, any Auror who had Snape as a teacher is _a lot_ better than the others."

"Ditto," Bill added.

Harry just smiled smugly. "I know."

Though Harry may have been total rubbish at potions, he wasn't half bad at gathering ingredients, or preparing them for that matter. Snape had taught him meditation, a bit of spells and rather handy magic. Then there was all the rest of it: what it was like to be treated like a normal kid, to have a proper home, to have someone who looked out for him. The family bits. Snape had been more than a brilliant teacher in those areas.

It wasn't long after that the Order members began trickling out of the kitchen, one by one. They made their goodbyes to Harry, then Floo'd out. Soon, it was only him and the Weasleys left. Mr Weasley had joined his wife and Snape in Snape's bedroom the minute he found out what was going on.

Harry sat back in the armchair and let the conversation flow over him. Never having been one who was fond of talking – talking drew attention, not always pleasant one, at that – he preferred to simply sit and listen. You could learn a lot, really.

Tonks and Charlie appeared to go way back. Harry had never known they were the same age and had gone to Hogwarts together. It appeared, despite having been sorted into different Houses, they had still maintained a friendship. Bill and Charlie had the advantage of being brothers, but in addition to that, they were very close to each other in how they acted and behaved. Having only known the younger Weasleys before, Harry hadn't been aware of how close the two oldest brothers were. None of the younger brothers and sister shared friends the way it looked like Bill and Charlie did. They didn't have the same easy and natural friendship these two did – well, except the twins. Tonks was obviously friends with Bill, the same way Fleur looked more than comfortable with Charlie.

If Harry hadn't known Charlie was gay, he would've wondered if the four of them weren't two couples.

"So, you and Charlie hooked up?"

Harry blinked.

"Huh?"

Tonks grinned at him. "I asked, you and Charlie are friends, then?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I suppose. When the git deigns to remember me beyond my culinary expertise." Charlie looked so affronted, Harry couldn't help but grin.

Tonks burst out laughing. "That might be a lost cause, mate."

"So I've been led to believe," Harry drawled.

"I take offense at the direction this conversation is going," Charlie protested. The twinkle in his eye belied his statement.

"Right!" Bill rolled his eyes. "You'd sell your soul if the devil himself offered you a home cooked meal."

"I would not!"

Harry just laughed. "Oh, yeah, you would. You were practically worshipping me when I told you I knew how to cook."

Charlie just grumbled while the others laughed at him.

Fleur leaned forward, and began inspecting all the various cups and platters on the coffee table. Harry, remembering that he was supposed to be the host since he actually lived here, leaned forward as well. "Is there anything left?"

"Non," Fleur said. "I do not even remember which ez my cup."

"Yeah, me either. You want more tea? I think I spied some grapes and satsumas in the kitchen earlier."

Fleur favoured him with a brilliant smile. It made it impossible not to notice how beautiful she was. "Zank you, 'Arry."

"Okay." Harry quickly and efficiently gathered the used cups in a pile, then cast a levitation charm on the bunch, made sure the teapots and plates floated as well, then directed the whole bunch to the kitchen. He didn't think they were all Snape's, because he couldn't remember seeing so much china in the kitchen before. He directed the whole of it to land on the kitchen table, trying to be as careful as he could. Then he brought out a tray and loaded it up with a bowl of satsumas, a plate or two of grapes, five mismatched mugs, and a fresh chipped teapot. It was the one he and Snape usually used. While he waited for the water to boil, the process sped up by magic, Harry selected the tea. Deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, Harry added a small pitcher of milk along with a small bowl of sugar.

By the time Harry made it back to the sitting room, one of the guests had prepared a board game.

"Where d'you get that?" Harry asked as he put the tray down next to the game. It wasn't a game he recognised, or had even played, for that matter.

Bill pointed at one of the tall bookshelves. "It was at the top of the shelf. It's all right if we play, right?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't know he had any games."

The rules of the game were fairly straightforward: each player got a mission card – first one to accomplish their mission won. It was a bit more complex than that, but Harry quickly surmised that as long as one 'stuck to the plan', victory was near. The game was called Risk, and contained a large board of the world, divided into countries. Each player was in charge of an army. The different dices decided who won or lost the war when battling over a territory. The cards Bill dealt at the beginning of the game contained all of the countries, so it was all down to chance if your army ended up even close to where you wanted it to be.

Harry's mission was to capture Africa and South America. Harry had one country in Africa, and four in South America. Fleur was his largest adversary; she had most of Africa from the start. South America was a little more evenly divided among the players.

During the course of the game they migrated from the sofa and armchairs, to cushions and pillows on the floor.

"So, what d'you think Snape's really talking to your parents about?" Harry asked after a while. He was pretty sure they'd been playing for almost an hour, and Snape and the Weasley parents were still not back yet.

Charlie shrugged.

"Could be anything, I suppose."

Harry frowned. "I guess. Snape was rather annoyed with what Mrs Weasley said. You know, about him taking advantage of me."

"Rather annoyed? As in – run for your life, annoyed?" Tonks quipped, causing them all to laugh.

"Oh, mon dieu!" Fleur murmured amidst all the laughter.

"What? Oh, bloody hell!" Bill ground out.

Fleur's smile was rather smug. "I 'ave now all of Australia and Europe." Indeed, the countries in those areas were all covered by Fleur's purple army. "Shall I take Asia next?"

Both Bill and Charlie looked rather dismayed. They'd been warring against each other over Asia almost the entire run of the game. Harry had managed to get South America, but he was stuck when it came to Africa, because both Tonks and Fleur were out for that part as well. Every now and then, Harry waged mock war with Charlie about the southern parts of North America, mostly just to keep the man on his toes. Tonks and Charlie had appeared to come to some sort of truce when it came to North America, but Harry wasn't going to lay off that part of the world just because of that.

It wasn't really that surprising that Fleur was a vicious player. She may be the prettiest witch Harry had ever seen, but she could be perfectly ruthless when the occasion called for it. She hadn't been a Tri-Wizard champion for nothing, after all.

"I'm beginning to wonder what your mission is," Harry said.

"World domination, of course!" Fleur chirped. "Now, I will make war with you, Charlie. I want India."

It was, rather unsurprisingly, Fleur who won the game.

By then, Harry's stomach was letting out small growls of hunger. He wasn't the only one. "Well," Harry said, "I can either cook something, or ask the House elves for something."

Bill leaned back against the sofa, long legs stretched out under the table. Sitting next to him, Harry couldn't help but notice how muscular Bill was. "There's always the option of going down to Hogsmeade."

Harry hesitated. "I don't know if I should. I mean, now that I'm not Obscured any more, I don't know how safe it is for me to walk around where I could be recognised by stray Death Eaters." Still, Snape had let him got to Muggle London all by himself earlier, but that had been in disguise with portkeys.

Frowning, Bill nodded. "That's true. I don't know about yu, but I feel like a chilled butterbeer."

"We have butterbeer," Harry pointed out. "Snape keeps some around for the weekends. I can cook up a mean stir-fry, too."

"Oh, can he ever…" Charlie's grin was dreamy and smug.

Tonks laughed and cuffed Charlie on the shoulder. "Weasley glutton!"

"I'll be cooking, then?" Harry asked. A round of nods answered him. So Harry untangled himself from the pillows, got up on his knees and then used the sofa behind him for support as he stood up. His legs felt a bit stiff and wobbly after having been sitting on the floor for so long.

The fridge in the kitchen was divided in two partitions, one larger than the other. The smaller part was Harry's. Snape didn't mind people who ate meat, but he absolutely detested it in his kitchen. He had expressively forbidden Harry from storing red meats in either the freezer or the fridge. What was left for Harry to eat from the animal kingdom was chicken and fish. Since Harry had stayed with Snape he had become rather good at inventing new recipes for chicken and fish. Of course, there were times when Harry had cravings for a proper burger with greasy chips, but on those occasions he'd either waited until he was with Derek, or asked the House elves. At times, Harry wondered about the aversions Snape held for meat, but he had never really asked.

The chicken was quickly sliced into thin, narrow stripes that were fried in no time at all in a separate pan. Red pepper, chopped mushrooms, a bit of onion, various other vegetables that Harry counted as 'fry-able', and some spices all went into the mix. The very last thing he added was the rice substitute Snape used. After trying it once, Harry had to admit it was a bit better than ordinary rice.

Sometime during the cooking, Harry noticed he wasn't alone in the kitchen.

"That smells delicious," Bill proclaimed.

Harry flashed a smile over his shoulder. "Thanks. It's easy, quick, and tasty."

"Aren't you going to mix in the chicken?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Snape doesn't like it."

"What's not to like about chicken?" Bill wondered.

"I guess when you're a vegetarian, you just don't like it. Could you lay the table?"

Bill flicked his wand, and the mess of used cups that Harry had place there earlier stacked itself neatly and organised itself in the sink. Another flick and plates, glasses and cutler arranged itself in an orderly fashion on the table.

"I don't know if Charlie knows," Bill spoke up suddenly. Harry startled because Bill's voice came from a closer proximity than he had been expecting. "I've tried to keep it from him. But you know how that goes."

"I guess?" Harry ventured. He plucked the pices of chicken, one by one, from the pan onto a serving platter.

"Ron doesn't do well when it comes to gays, Harry. You'd already sussed that much out, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. He doesn't take to different all that well. That, and, well. I think he wants me to take it up with Ginny," he mumbled. "That's sort of the feeling I got in the past, anyway. It didn't matter much if I was sort of going out with Cho at the time, because in the future it would be him and Hermione, and me and Ginny. I always got the feeling that he was planning it like that, anyway."

Bill sighed loudly. "He does like symmetry. Just don't throw it at him, all right? Give him time. Try and ease him into it, if you can."

"It's sort of how I normally do it, it was just…Mrs Weasley just made me…remember how awful I felt, back then. Charlie helped me feel better in so many ways, I guess it just makes me real angry when people try and make me feel bad about it. I already did that myself, you know?"

"Snape knows, right? He always seems so strict."

Harry snorted. "He's the most complex person I've ever met. I was seeing a bloke earlier, and Snape took great delights in teasing me something awful about it. At the same time, he made it perfectly clear to me that if we stepped over the line he wouldn't hesitate to ground me until I'm thirty, or something. And when Charlie came over the other day, after I finally got around to sending him a letter— Snape put a bloody Chastity Ward on my bed!" Harry's voice was laced with indignation.

Bill chuckled. "Mum did that all the time, too."

"Yeah, so Charlie said," Harry muttered. "But I still don't see why he had to go and do it."

"Maybe so you wouldn't do something you shouldn't?" Bill said, serious.

Harry shrugged. "I guess. But with Charlie not remembering anything, and me being sort of over it anyway, I just don't think it was necessary. Especially not as Snape takes way too much pleasure out of it. It's like he delights in making me embarrassed."

Bill huffed with laughter. "I'm not surprised, mate."

"Oh, shut up," Harry groused. "Let the others know dinner's ready."

Bill poked his head out of the doorway, said one word, "Food," and then the chairs around the table were filled.

Harry blinked. "Okay. Hungry, much?"

"Starving," Charlie corrected. "I skipped lunch."

Halfway through the meal, Snape returned with Mr and Mrs Weasley in tow. Mrs Weasley gushed over the food, Mr Weasley grinned and helped himself to a rather large serving – it seemed the Weasley men all appreciated good food. Snape squeezed Harry's shoulder in passing, then served himself as well.

"Molly and Arthur will fill in their younger children as well as Miss Granger," Snape said. "The rest is inconsequential for now."

Knowing Snape, that was all Harry was going to find out about what the three adults had spent what felt like several hours talking about. Still, that didn't stop his insatiable curiosity from rearing its head, demanding to be let free to ask questions.

—x—

It was much later that night. Neither Harry nor Snape had gone to bed, despite the fact that midnight was approaching.

"I have plans for Christmas," Snape suddenly spoke up.

Harry snapped his head up. The book he'd been reading landed with a thump on the floor. "What?"

"I said, Harry, that I have plans for Christmas." Snape cocked his head to the side. "I usually wait to see if any Slytherins remain before I decide what to do. There are not many remaining behind this year. As some are staying, I am not normally allowed to leave the castle, much less leave the country."

It might have been a childish, stupid impulse. Either way, Harry didn't give a flying tosser about the kids in Slytherin who had stayed at Hogwarts. No, his priorities were much straighter than that. "But…what about me?" he asked, voice a bit too soft, eyes narrowed.

"Yes, what about you?" Snape agreed. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you have any plans, Harry? Anything at all?"

Harry shook his head. "No. how could I? I mean…yeah, we've figured out why everything's so bloody messed up, but just because we know, and those from the Order you told, doesn't exactly mean I've got all my friends back, y'know? I don't think my relatives are even an option, 'cause, you know."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Quite," he said.

It was Christmas. Harry really didn't have any desire to spend another year locked up somewhere. Be it a cupboard under the stairs or an upstairs, unused bedroom.

Harry cleared his throat. "I, um. I sort of thought I'd spend it here. Christmas. With you. But if you have plans… I'm not really sure I have anywhere…anywhere to go. Not if you're going away, I mean." Harry swallowed. He began picking at the hem of his shirt. "Are…are you going to leave me here, too?"

"Do you want me to?" Snape's question was frank.

Harry bit his lip. "Honest?" Snape nodded. "No. No, I don't want to be alone."

Snape looked at him for a little while longer, then he nodded again. "Good," he said. To Harry's ears he almost sounded relieved. He reached inside his vest and pulled out an envelope. "Think of it as an early Christmas…gift, if you must," Snape told him gruffly.

Bemused, Harry accepted the rectangular envelope. "Okay." He turned it over exactly three times before he dared to open it. It was plain white. Probably Muggle, since it wasn't made of parchment. There wasn't anything written on it, no marks. It wasn't even properly closed, the flap merely tucked inside the opening of the envelope. Cautiously, Harry tugged it open very carefully. Whatever it was inside was upside down, because Harry couldn't make out what it was from this angle. The piece of paper he pulled out was stiff and sort of glossy.

"New Orleans." Harry blinked, read the myriad of words printed all over the ticket – because that's what it had to be: a ticket – all over again only to end up at the same conclusion: Snape had got him an aeroplane ticket to New Orleans. "I… What?"

"I intend to go to New Orleans, Potter. You are invited to join me."

"New Orleans?" Harry said again.

"Yes, Potter," Snape agreed, sounding rather amused. "Located in southern America, I believe."

"Snape…these are 400 pounds per ticket! That's like, 800 pounds for both! And, I don't even know how much that is in Galleons, but…"

"Yes?"

"I can't let you—"

"Christmas gift," Snape ground out, enunciating each syllable clearly.

"You can't spend that much on me!" Harry blurted. "You've already given me so much. I'm not worth it, I—"

"You are," Snape snapped. He was beginning to look annoyed. "It's my choice, is it not?"

"Look, it's not that I'm not grateful, 'cause I am, it's just… It's a lot of money, you know?"

"Yes. But most assuredly well spent."

"You really want me to go with you?" Harry asked quietly.

Snape reached out and closed Harry's fingers over the tickets. "Yes, Harry, I do."

"Oh. Okay." Harry smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Something that Snape had said earlier in the conversation suddenly clicked. "Hey! You said you couldn't leave the castle!"

Snape smirked, looking rather amused. "True. Minerva has agreed to look in on my students."

"There is another matter as well," Snape said slowly. He was staring at the crackling fire.

"Okay?"

"It might be an excellent opportunity for us to see how well – or even if we can at all – function outside of the castle."

Harry swallowed, once.

"I trust you realise you will be required to follow my rules, don't you?"

Put like that, Harry thought it sounded rather ominous.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, next chapter, well. I'm not sure. I've been planning for a while to have Harry and Snape go on a little holiday. However, the way that chapter is playing out, it doesn't have much to do with the story as such (Harry, meet Mr Vampire). Therefore, I'll probably be posting that as a oneshot, instead of as a chapter here. This leads to the little dilemma I have. Because I'm writing that little excursion instead, I'm not sure whether I'll get a proper chapter ready in time. That said, the next 'real' chapter in this story will most likely deal with Harry wanting a dad, or I'm bringing Ron and Hermione in.
> 
> Cheers!


	14. New Orleans, part I

Harry and Severus go for a little holiday over Christmas.

I blame the tacky Americanism on Supernatural.

* * *

The flight from Amsterdam to New Orleans took fifteen hours. They'd used the Floo system to get to Amsterdam, and that was also the only part of the trip that had been fast and relatively painless. Harry did not like the way his ears smarted as the plain took flight. He liked the view, loved it, even. But the pain in his ears he'd rather be without.

"D'you reckon it's warmer here?"

Snape glanced out the window Harry was gazing through with avid attention. "Possibly."

"So, no snow?"

"I would assume not."

"You're being really—" Harry glanced at Snape. "What?"

"We will begin to descend soon."

Harry groaned. "No…" His ears were still smarting after getting up in the air. He really didn't want to think about what going down through the air would do to his ears. Given all the time he'd spent on his broomstick, he hadn't really considered that flying could hurt. "Isn't there something—?"

"Yes." Snape made sure his belt was fastened properly and urged Harry to do the same. "I will make sure to have some ready for when we return home."

Harry took that to mean it was a potion, not a spell. He accepted the bottle of water Snape handed him. He'd chewed gum on the way up. It hadn't helped much, but a little. Maybe drinking a bottle full of water would help more. Harry did his best not thinking of the fact that he really needed to use the loo.

—x—

The hotel, Harry decided, was bloody marvellous. It was in the magical part of the city – aptly named just that: the Magical Quarter. It was in a section sealed off from the Muggles in the old part of New Orleans: the French Quarter. The hotel was an old building, whitewashed with tall windows and balconies. There was a lovely garden in the courtyard, complete with a pond, lanterns and various benches. Right next door, the building itself sharing one wall with the hotel, was a block of flats. But the basement wasn't a flat. Oh no – Harry had noted this the very same evening he and Snape had arrived – in the basement by night was a nightclub, and a somewhat more respectable café of sorts during the day.

Snape, of course, had cast a long look at the boarded windows and flashing neon signs. "No," he said.

Harry stiffened, squared his shoulders and tried to make himself look a lot taller than he was. "Hey! That's not fair—"

"If I catch you lurking within a foot of that place after dark, I will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as I sell certain pictures of a certain failed attempt at an animagus transformation."

Harry gulped.

"Are we clear?"

There was a hint of a pout on Harry's face as hit bottom lip protruded just a titbit too much. "Yeah," he mumbled. "No clubbing, got it."

Snape snorted. "You'd be bitten within an hour, Harry. Fresh blood on the streets – who could resist?"

Harry frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean," Snape said, rather slowly, "that there is a reason why so many Muggle romance novels featuring vampires take place in New Orleans."

Harry blinked. Then he wet his lips. "Vampires?" he queried, nonplussed.

"Yes. Vampires. I trust that is not a problem?" Snape's tone made it very clear to Harry that it had better not be.

Feeling more than a little confused, Harry began tugging on one of the piercings in his earlobe. "Um, I dunno. Is it? We covered werewolves that time in DADA when you were a temp for Lupin, but…I don't think we ever got to vampires."

Snape glared at Harry for daring to refer to Snape as a temp. Harry just winked.

"Sunlight will not kill them. They are just light sensitive, and nocturnal, so the night is their natural domain. They require little sleep, none of it in a coffin. While the stench of garlic is offensive, it is just that: offensive. The cross is a catholic symbol, unrelated to vampires as a species." Snape tugged Harry's chin up to make sure he had Harry's complete attention. "Vampires hunt. They drink blood. They are dangerous. Because they heal quickly, it's difficult to harm one. I've found a swift jab to their fangs a good deterrent. They recover too quickly from a knee in the gut, or bollocks." Snape's eyes softened a little. "I do believe they usual ask first, though, on the off chance they find a wizard resistant to their thrall."

And that had been that. Harry was sure that once they got back to Hogwarts, Snape would dig out a book or two, then shove them at Harry. But still, that didn't mean Harry wasn't curious about the place. Especially as it was so close, too. Every time he went outside, sometimes alone, to explore the Muggle side of New Orleans – mostly the French Quarter because it was the closest. He'd gone with Snape once or twice, on boat, up the Mississippi to gather potions ingredients. It was tedious, wet and dirty. Snape, being who he was, had dragged Harry off to museums, too. But every once in a while, like today, Harry got some time to himself.

Together with Snape he had explored Royal Street, and later Bourbon Street.

—x—

Early on during their holiday – the second, day, in fact, was a rather important day.

Harry woke up early. He stretched, yawned, then grinned and rolled out of bed. Snape was still sleeping, buried under a smaller mound of blankets. He could just barely make out a tuft of black hair peeking out at top by the pillows. Snape's feet, hands and the rest of him was hidden from sight.

It was Christmas, and Harry was hungry.

Two very good reasons, Harry reckoned, for having the sheer audacity, like Snape would say, to tickle a sleeping dragon. So Harry, on tiptoes, went around Snape's bed. He carefully tugged at the blankets until Snape's face came into view. Then, slowly, Harry reached out. Snape's nose was a beckoning target, and Harry only planned to poke it a little.

Before Harry even made contact, Snape's hands shot out, grabbed Harry by the wrist, and threw him over the bed. With a squeak of surprise, and a grunt as the air whooshed out of his lungs, Harry landed on the bed next to Snape. "Fuck!" he wheezed.

"Indeed," Snape mumbled, then brought his hands down.

Harry squealed with laughter as Snape managed to find every ticklish spot he had, and even a few he hadn't known he had.

It was quite some time later before either one of them was dressed and ready for breakfast. They chose to breakfast at a nearby café, instead of the food offered by the hotel. They both decided to order something a bit more luxurious than usual. Waffles, with sweet jam and a dollop of whipped cream. It was probably a bit much to start the day with, but Christmas only came once a year, after all. Once they were done eating, and Snape had taken the longest possible time, _ever_ , to drink a cup of coffee, Harry dragged the man back to the hotel.

"Ants in your pants, boy?" Snape groused after Harry pushed him inside the tiny lift.

Harry just grinned. "Come on, Snapey! It's Christmas!"

One elegant eyebrow lifted, slowly, up Snape's forehead. "Snapey?" he queried, voice dangerously soft.

Harry bit back a reflexive whimper.

They were in a lift. A small, narrow lift. No witnesses, just the two of them.

"Slipped out? I'm sorry?" Harry tried.

Snape grinned. It was an evil grin that promised humiliation, embarrassment and something highly unpleasant.

The lift chimed cheerfully. Snape opened the door, took hold of Harry's neck, and guided him out. The door to their room opened with a wave of Snape's free hand. Then they were inside. The snick the lock made as it was turned sounded unnecessarily loud to Harry.

"Snape," Harry tried.

Snape came up behind the boy, and Harry didn't stand a chance. A quick cuff over the head, and then Snape's hands descended on Harry's sides.

Now, if Harry had thought he'd been tickled to death only that morning, it was nothing to what he was going through right then. He begged, pleaded and beseeched. Snape grinned, smirked and tutted. He skilfully avoided each and every attempt Harry made to kick and fight free.

—x—

It was a very stiff Harry who sat down on the sofa. Snape himself had a big, fat smirk on his face. He was tapping his wand against his hand, as if he was contemplating whether he should make Harry suffer further.

"Now. You will not call me 'Snapey'. Agreed?"

Harry nodded, looking very sullen. "Yeah." Who knew Snape could be so bloody vindictive? Granted, what with the man being a Slytherin, Harry probably should have foreseen it.

Harry's hair smarted at little, strained as it was into two short, spiky pigtails. Snape had even had the _fucking decency_ to conjure a head band. The one glimpse Harry had got of it had revealed a terrifying amount of sequins, glitter and horrible fluffy pink.

It matched the jumper Snape had magiced on him. In truth, Harry wasn't sure what was worse: his new hair style or the fluffy lavender shirt picturing a My Little Pony, with the words 'Daddy's Precious Angel' printed on it. Again, the glittery pinkness was enough to make Harry want to gouge his eyes out.

The flash of a camera caught Harry off guard. His head snapped up, dark glare on his face. "Hey!"

"Insurance," Snape said silkily, and the camera flashed again. It was tucked away in one of Snape's pockets.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're going to take this stuff off, right?"

"Where would the fun be in that? It can come off when you _can_ _take_ it off." Snape smirked. "Now, I believe someone was a little overenthusiastic about Christmas?"

Harry bit his lip, feeling torn. On the one hand, he really wanted to see what were in the gifts that had materialised overnight under the small Christmas tree provided by the hotel. On the other hand, however, he really fucking wanted to get out of the pink and lavender monstrosities Snape had spelled on him.

The childish instinct won.

"You can be Santa, Snape," Harry proclaimed. He wasn't as good at magic as Snape, but he still thought the Santa hat he created out of thin air was passable. It certainly fit Snape, even if the man glowered at the fluffy red hat with its white trim. Harry's smile was a little sly.

Snape pursed his lips, rolled his eyes, then he heaved himself out of the chair with a loud sigh.

It wasn't until much later that Harry discovered the tinsel wrapped around his waist like a belt.

"First gift is for Harry," Snape drawled.

Harry grinned, accepted the gift, then placed it next to him. After Snape had handed out all the gifts, Harry had a respectable pile of presents next to him. He wasn't sure, but it sort of looked like the biggest pile of gifts he had ever received. In stark contrast, Snape's pile was much more moderate. With another little grin, mostly aimed at himself, Harry dug into his pile.

The first present was from Charlie, and contained the last glasses of his dragons collectible set. It was perhaps a bit much, but Harry figured that Charlie was trying to make up for having forgotten about Harry. A bit daft, really, because it hadn't been Charlie's fault. Either way, the gift still pleased him. Szmanda, who had sort of wormed himself into a casual, new friend of Harry's, had given him a neat set of quills and some coloured inks. Tom had bought him a few smaller Muggle games: a deck of cards with a Star Wars motive, Yahtzee, Ludo, Mikado and Mastermind. They were all games Harry had heard of and seen other kids play when he was little. No one had ever wanted to play any of those games with Harry.

"Um. Why did Malfoy buy me a gift?" Harry wondered. He examined the set of four intricate and beautiful glass bottles Malfoy had given him. The box they were in said that the bottles themselves were unbreakable, resistant to outside tampering once Harry had set the password, and could contain up to two litres of whatever liquid Harry needed to store in them.

"He is keeping his options open, and reminding you that he may yet be swayed," Snape explained, himself busy examining a shiny set of, what looked like to Harry, plain black stones.

"Oh. Brownie points, then," Harry mumbled, mostly to himself.

The next gift was a thick journal, from Derek. Harry allowed a small smile to creep up on his face. This one, unlike the first one Harry had tried writing in, didn't have any lines. Harry hadn't liked the restrictions of lines the first time around.

Despite having opened so many gifts, there was still a sizable pile left. All of them wrapped in the same purple wrapping paper, all of them with ribbons of pink and lime green – that particular colour combination made Harry's eyes water. They were all also completely devoid of either notes or cards. A bit hesitantly, he reached for the first one. There wasn't a danger of any of the gifts having been tampered with – he was sharing a room with _Snape_. So Harry opened the first one. It was a bit soft and lumpy.

There was a T-shirt inside it, black with a purple pattern. Harry blinked, then reached for the next one and tore that one open as well. A button down shirt, white. Again and again, Harry opened the pile of gifts. His eyes grew larger and larger as clothes continued to spill out. He remembered some of the clothes, having fingered or sometimes even tried them on before having been deterred by the long queues in the shops. And yet… Here was the cardigan Harry had liked, with its charcoal grey colour and swirling pattern of green, blue and grey running down the sides. There were the jeans Harry had tried on, the blue and black pair, as well as the stonewashed pair. Harry found proper, thick gloves and a new Gryffindor scarf. There was even a jacket. It was dark green, sort of Muggle military in its cut and style. It was thick and perfect for winter.

The very last gift he opened contained a white T-shirt, of a slightly tighter style than the others. There was a rainbow on it, with a text underneath: _I'm so gay I shit rainbows_. Harry narrowed his eyes and looked up.

Snape smirked, raised an eyebrow, then held up a T-shirt of his own, only his was black and long-sleeved. _Proud!_ , it said, big letters and all, each letter a colour of the rainbow. Below that was more text: _of my gay son_.

 _Proud!_

 _of my gay son_.

Harry clenched his jaw. "Snape. You bastard. I swear, you get way too much pleasure out of this."

"Hmmm. I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," Snape said, being elusive on purpose. "I take it you are pleased with your gifts?"

Harry gave Snape one last glare. Looking over everything he'd been given this year – it was so much, too much! – Harry couldn't help the giddy, shy smile from breaking out on his face. "Yeah, they're great. Thanks." Suddenly nervous, Harry looked up at Snape again. "How about you? Did you like my gifts?"

Buying presents was hard, but fun. Buying something for Snape was doubly so. Back in England – it felt really weird thinking that – he had found chocolates of a more exclusive variant, as well as some new tea blends he thought Snape might like. They weren't the most personal gifts, ever, but at least Harry had known Snape would like them. But then, when they'd arrived in New Orleans a whole new market had opened up. Here, Harry had found a leather-bound old fashioned looking potions journal. In the Magical Quarter, as well as some of the more mysterious shops in the French Quarter, there were shops that dealt with mysticism, folklore, the occult. Three of the books Harry had managed to scour up where probably Muggle in origin. The rest were all magical, but quite unlike any books Harry had ever seen in the UK.

"Yes," Snape said. He glanced at the pile of books Harry had found for him. "You do realise these books are highly illegal in the UK?"

Harry blinked. "Um. No? What? Why?"

Snape smirked. "Because they deal with spirits, Bloodmagic, as well as a little bit of Necromancy and, not to forget, my personal favourite: Black Magic. Where did you find them?"

"There are these shops, in the French and Magical Quarter. They look sort of shady. They deal with herbs and stuff. Occult stuff. One of them made me buy a really neat looking dreamcatcher." Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, it may have been hoodoo and, um, Louisiana voodoo."

Chuckling, Snape shook his head. "You will have to show me, you realise. These books…"

"What? Not good?"

"Quite the opposite, really. Think of them as an appetiser."

Harry laughed. "And the tea was okay, too? It smelled great, but, you know."

"We'll have to try it later," Snape agreed. Then he grew serious. "Now, were the clothes right?"

"They're perfect," Harry said, feeling that strange ball of warmth blossoming in his chest. "Thank you."

They spent the rest of the day trying out the various Muggle games Harry had got from Tom. Harry also spent quite a lot of time trying to get out of the getup Snape had charmed on him. It was easier said than done, much to Harry's frustration, but he finally managed to get the jumper and the headband off in time for dinner. The pigtails he would simply have to live with, for now. Lunch had been eaten in the room – if there was one day of the year when you were allowed to be lazy, it was on Christmas. With what might have been a touch too much glee, Harry immediately set out to find a new – _brand fucking new!_ – outfit from the new clothes.

The black jeans went on, along with a white T-shirt that had random text printed all over it. He wore the cardigan over that. If one ignored the stupid hairdo, Harry thought he looked quite good. He would probably have to talk to Derek about the niggling doubt and growing worry that he wasn't really worth so many new clothes – not to mention the glasses, the boots, the trip: Snape had given him so much. It was probably important that he talked to Derek as soon as possible, before Harry could talk himself into doing something stupid.

Like, trying to talk Snape into letting Harry pay for it.

Dinner was eaten in a quaint little Greek restaurant. The food was delicious, the dessert was delightful. Harry felt so full he was about to burst. It was rather fortunate, he thought, that there was a short walk from the restaurant back to the hotel.

The nightclub Harry had been expressively warned from entering was open. Music could be heard through the open door, and more than a few of the guests were loitering around outside. The way Snape and Harry had gone back to the hotel meant they had entered the courtyard from the back. That entrance wasn't as used as the main gate, and the path was pebbled – it made trying to move silently very difficult. The official entrance was paved with smooth charcoal grey stones, with plants along the sides and light fixtures lightning up the path. This unofficial one was a bit more shady.

The back of the nightclub was lined in with a low wooden fence. There were a few tables and chairs, some of them occupied by people.

One of them Harry couldn't help but notice, especially not when they moved closer. It wasn't that the bloke was exceedingly handsome or anything like that – it was way too dark to tell from this distance, really, and Harry's eyes weren't the best in the dark, despite the new glasses – but the sheer power and magic that he excluded was intoxicating. It didn't help matters that it looked like it was an extremely fit bloke, with really tight trousers that positively hugged the bloke's thighs.

Snape's hand locked around the back of Harry's neck like a band of ice. "That, Mr Potter, is a vampire."

"He's hot!" Harry exclaimed, in a hushed voice, unable to help himself. Or tear his eyes away, for that matter.

Snape squeezed. "Harry. I now have further incriminating photographs—"

Harry rolled his eyes. His hair was still smarting, thank you very much! "I'm just saying, Snape!"

Snape, it seemed, remained a little unconvinced. "I believe a little meditation practice is due for tonight."

"What? Why?"

"Are you completely daft? The reason I was able to walk you through your Animagus transformation was because the trance-like state you put yourself into greatly resembles the meditative requirements of Occlumency preparation. Vampires, in case you have managed to remain unawares of this fact, are naturals in both Legilimency and Occlumency. You could do to brush up on your Occlumency. Especially if you are drawn towards vampires," Snape said, sounding a bit stiff.

Harry felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. _Occlumency_ and _Snape_ were two matters he didn't want to think about in conjunction with each other. Last year… Those lessons had been horrible. Pure torture. He didn't want to ruin his first holiday, ever – his first _proper_ Christmas, ever – by resuming those _fucking_ lessons.

"Snape, no, I—"

"Yes." Snape's tone was hard, warning Harry not to question him on this.

"But—"

"Harry. I'm afraid I must insist." Snape wasn't looking at Harry, though, his cold gaze was focused on the pebbled path in front of them.

"No! I won't!" Harry hissed, his temper starting to act up.

Snape grabbed Harry by the arm and twisted the boy around. "It will _not_ be like last time, boy!" he snapped. "You _know_ how to meditate by now. I will talk you through it. _You_ will build adequate defences. _I_ will instruct you how. Depending on your success, I _may_ test them."

Harry gaped, a feeling of incredulity, disbelief and anger welling up inside him. "You… _Bastard_! Why the fuck did—?"

Snape sneered. "Because I was a stupid fool who took the Headmaster for his word when he ensured me you were sufficiently informed of what the lessons would entail."

Harry stared. The sense of betrayal from what he'd found out last year Dumbledore had kept from him grew.

"I promised your mother I would protect you. I promised the Headmaster the same," Snape bit out stiffly. "Unfortunately, the Headmaster does not have the same opinions of how that might be achieved."

"Sirius _died!_ " Harry hissed.

Snape masked his dislike for the man quickly, Harry had to give him that. "You also broke into the Department of Mystery and destroyed the prophecy itself," Snape pointed out. "I believe the Headmaster thought that to be of greater importance. After all," the man pointed out, voice cold as ice, "Black was merely an escaped convict, was he not?"

Harry's face went red with rage. "I _loved_ him!"

"Yes," Snape hissed, dark eyes glinting, "and that made you weak. It made you harder to manipulate, because suddenly there was an adult _you_ looked up to, more than you ever had the Headmaster."

"But he said he cared too much about me!"

"The Headmaster plays a very dangerous game, Harry. Attachment of any kind is dangerous," Snape said, ruthlessly. "He _Obscured_ you, against reason, so that you might remain undetected by Death Eaters. Does that strike you as something a _benevolent_ man would do?"

—x—

The argument left Harry feeling angry and vaguely unsettled – the meditation had been postponed. He couldn't sleep. After having twisted and turned for what felt like hours, Harry finally gave up. He got out of bed, made sure he was somewhat dressed, stopping only to pull on a jumper and grab his shoes.

Snape's voice stopped him in his tracks the second Harry twisted the doorknob.

"Where're you going, Harry?" The man's voice was thick with sleep, but still somewhat coherent. Harry thought it a bit amusing that, the more tired Snape was, the less posh he sounded. One day, Harry was going to ask where Snape was from and when he had changed his accent.

"The restaurant. Can't sleep."

"Hmmm. Be careful."

"I will. Goodnight."

"G'night," Snape mumbled.

The hotel was decidedly less busy at night. During the day, voices came from all over and whenever you rounded a corner, there was always someone there. At night it was eerily quiet and empty. A corner of the restaurant was sectioned of, and it was to this area Harry was headed. He knew, technically speaking, that it was a bar that closed at five in the morning, when the restaurant opened. But right now Harry hoped that whoever worked as a bartender might be convinced to fix Harry some hot chocolate – or, if that failed, warm milk with honey.

Quiet music was playing. There were a few patrons inside, sitting around a table and carrying on a hushed discussion. Harry ignored them and went straight to the bar, where he sat on one of the high barstools.

"Ain't no way you over eighteen, man," the bartender told Harry after casting one look at him.

Harry smiled. "I'm sixteen," he said.

The bartender gave Harry a wide smile. "Glad we sorted tha' problem out, no? How 'bout a coke?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm trying to fall asleep, not get hyped on caffeine. Do you have hot chocolate or something?"

The bartender smirked. "I might."

Harry smiled. "Great."

"You want a snack?"

Harry shrugged. "Some crisps might be nice," he said, feeling a sudden urge for the slightly salted, but somewhat distinctly sweet and sour taste of salt and vinegar crisps. "Vinegar, if you have."

The bartender blinked. "That something else for you English dudes?"

"I…don't know. Is it?"

"He means chips, Louie," a voice from behind Harry said, just moments before Harry felt the same rush of power and magic that he had earlier that evening.

Well, it wasn't the same, exactly, because this felt a lot more subdued. But still, Harry was instantly on his guard. The bloke who sat down next to Harry looked to be in his early twenties. His eyes were green – not as startling green as Harry's, but few were. He wasn't as pale as Harry had expected a vampire to be, nor did he have long fangs poking out of his mouth. His long brown hair was tied back in a plait. A silver earing hung from his left earlobe.

"I, um. Yeah. I guess."

The bartender produced a bag of crisps from somewhere and held it up to Harry for inspection. "Yeah, thanks! Crisps."

"Chips," the bloke next to him corrected. "I'll have bourbon."

"Got it," the bartender said.

Harry spent a few seconds watching the bartender move about behind the disk, then he opened the bag of crisps and upended it in the small bowl the bartender had provided him with.

"You're a long way from home." The bloke spoke with a soft drawl that Harry had come to learn was the local accent. Harry thought it was kind of nice to listen to.

"Yeah. Holiday."

"What's your name, then?"

"Harry." Harry cast a sideways glance at the bloke. The bloke wasn't looking at him, but was observing his small glass of bourbon rather intently. "You?"

"Michael."

The bartender came back with Harry's hot chocolate right then. "There. You gonna pay me, or add it to your tab?"

"My tab," Harry answered. "I'm with Snape."

"So," the vampire drawled.

Harry shot him a curious glance.

"Nice do."

Harry blinked. "I feel like I've missed out on a whole cultural development or something. Nice what?"

Michael grinned. Harry thought he could almost make out teeth that were a tiny bit sharper than normal. "Your hair, man. Spiffy."

Harry remained oblivious for one short, blissful second. Then his face went red. He scowled. " _Fuck it_ ," he muttered under his breath.

Michael's grin widened a little. "So, not by choice?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I called my, um." Harry pondered what to call Snape for a little bit, then shrugged. It wasn't like he was likely to meet Michael again, and it was even less likely that Snape would ever meet Michael. "Let's just say I called my dad something I shouldn't have, okay? I swear, the man takes pleasure in humiliating me."

"Why don't you just take the ties off?"

"Tried." Harry pulled on one of the short, spiky pigtails. "He's good with inventing spells. I just haven't figured this one out yet."

Michael shuffled closer on his chair, then reached out with a hand. He never really touched Harry, or said a spell or anything, but Harry still had the feeling that Michael was doing some sort of magic. He could feel it like tiny little sparks that danced along his skin.

"So part of the lesson is to teach you how long you've to go 'till you're equals, huh?"

"Whenever I get too cocky," Harry agreed. "What are you doing?"

"Just thought I'd do you the favour of checking what kind of spell he put on you." Michael brought his hand back. "Unfortunately, your dad's excellent at covering his tracks."

"He's paranoid. And smug." Harry took a measured sip of the hot chocolate in his large mug. "And brilliant."

"You said your name was Snape?"

For a moment, Harry contemplated telling the truth. Then he pushed that urge aside. Snape had made him cover up his scar the same morning they left England. It was a mix between Muggle cosmetics and potions that Harry hadn't fully comprehended. What he did know was that for a period of up to a week at the time, Harry's scar could be hidden. As a Potions Master Snape frequently travelled to all sorts of places to find obscure texts and ingredients, so it wasn't all that strange for Snape to go away to New Orleans.

It was rather strange, however, for Severus Snape to travel in the company of Harry Potter.

That was one of the reasons that made Harry nod and say yes to Michael. There was, of course, another and infinitely more selfish reason why he said yes, as well.

"He's the Potions Master, right? He's pretty important?"

"I guess. I never was too into potions."

Michael took a sip of his bourbon, all the while observing Harry. "He perfected the potion that brings down the bloodlust in vampires, you know. Makes us not go so crazy every time someone gets a paper cut."

Harry blinked.

"Say, um. What?"

"What?" Michael repeated, rather cockily, a lazy smirk on his face.

Oh yes, Harry thought, definitely fangs poking out now.

"Listen," Harry said, heart beating at a fast pace beneath his breastbone. "I've had one decent teacher in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and when he was ill once, Dad stepped in and did a lecture on werewolves. No one ever covered vampires." Harry said all of this very quickly, his eyes locked on the sharp, white fang peeking out of the left corner of Michael's mouth. "I mean, yeah, Dad covered the basics, but—"

"But?"

"He said you asked, and if not, bang your fangs in," Harry snapped, annoyed at the arrogant interruption.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "One of those, is he."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean one of those who don't like being attacked by random people? Yeah! He is. And so am I, for that matter."

"But that is so boring."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sorry. I'm sure there's a ditzy blonde somewhere who won't mind."

The vampire was definitely pouting now. "But _they_ are so boring. And you're all English and _new_. Why would I want the same old I get every day?"

Harry wasn't entirely successful in suppressing his smile at the rather unique compliment. Well, at least he was pretty sure it was a compliment of some kind. "Because," Harry just said.

"Boring," Michael muttered.

"That's life for you."

Michael sniffed.

Harry ignored him and rolled his eyes. He stirred his chocolate a couple of times, then took a few sips. The bartender was over at the other side of the bar, busily pouring drinks and chatting with a group of visitors. They were easily older than Snape. _Way_ older. They were also looking as if they'd been drinking for quite a while already. Every now and then, Harry thought he could see the bartender glancing at him, then at Michael.

"I have been bitten several times," Michael suddenly said.

Harry blinked, then just stared at Michael. "I have to say," the vampire continued, "It feels _really_ good."

"I really don't care," Harry said. Though, if he was honest, there was a tiny, tiny little part of him that was curious. Just a little bit. Snape wouldn't have told him how to escape from a vampire if he wanted Harry to go around offering his neck, right?

"That's a blatant lie," Michael accused, grinning.

Harry rolled his eyes again. "I'm British, not easy."

Michael laughed. When he stopped, Harry was rather certain Michael was sitting closer to him then he had before. He was sure of it, because, well. Michael had an arm resting on the back of Harry's chair. "I can feel that you're powerful."

"Really? How?"

Michael shrugged. "Don't know, really. I just do. Same way I know who to go after for blood, I guess. More magic usually means that you mortals are tastier."

That right there stopped Harry in his tracks, figuratively. _Mortals_? "So, _how_ old are you?"

Michael's grin was decidedly feral. It sent shivers down Harry's spine. "I'm young."

"How young?"

"Too old for you," a voice spoke directly into his ear. For a wild, flashing moment Harry was sure it was Snape. But then he realised that the voice wasn't nearly deep enough, and the accent wasn't the posh English one he had grown used to over the years. "Isn't that so, Mike?"

Michael huffed. Harry twisted around in his chair to face the newcomer. Harry found, even sitting down as he was, he didn't have to look up much to meet the bloke's eyes. The eyes were more yellow than brown, but still sort of warm. Not as cold as the colour would usually indicate. He had short, spiky hair dyed an obnoxious shade of purple and wore makeup.

"I'm not even a bloodsucker," the short man said. He showed off his teeth. A bit pointy and sharp, Harry thought. "See? Werewolf." Then he turned his attention back to Michael again. "What are you doing in here anyway, man? We're waiting outside for you."

Michael drained his glass in one go, then pushed away from the bar. "See you around, Harry."

"Bye," Harry said, then watched as the two made their way out. He drained the last of his chocolate, waved to the bartender, then made his way back to his room. Only, he still wasn't feeling as if he could sleep. So, wand in hand, Harry locked himself in the bathroom.

After all, there weren't any blocks on this bathroom that prevented Harry from erecting a good silencing barrier.

—x—

"I didn't hear you come back," Snape said when Harry stepped out of the loo the morning after. Having slept in a little, Harry had been down to breakfast a bit later and thus hadn't run into Snape yet.

Harry shrugged. "Took a bit longer than I thought, I guess. But anyway, could you _please_ make my hair normal again? I think I've suffered enough now."

"Clearly not."

Harry pursed his lips. "Seriously. It's kind of starting to hurt. And people are looking at me like there's something wrong with me."

"I'm sure," Snape said. But he didn't move for his wand, or look up from the book he was reading.

Harry glared. "Fine," he huffed. "Well, I'm going out."

"Be back before dark," Snape called after him.

Grabbing a scarf, Harry quickly wrapped it around his neck, before pulling on a coat. The scarf was light and in his latest favourite colour – purple. There was some grey, black and silver shot through it, nothing at all Gryffindor about it. It was just that even though New Orleans wasn't exactly scorching hot, it wasn't anywhere near Scotland's low winter temperatures. A thick woolly scarf was a bit too much. Even the coat was lightweight. "It might slip my mind," Harry said, voice clipped.

"Do you want me to ground you, boy?" Snape asked in a dangerous voice. "I assure you, it is something I can arrange unless you mind that tongue of yours."

Harry stilled. "You'd punish me?"

"It is what parents do, is it not?" Snape questioned, sounding rather offish about it.

"You haven't really done that before. You know?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling a bit shy and overwhelmed and…confused. Very confused.

"I think it's rather past time that I started, then."

Biting his bottom lip, Harry crossed the room. He sat down next to Snape on the sofa, hands firmly between his thighs. "So, um. You won't lock…lock me up in, in a cupboard, right? Or, or take away food? I can do chores, and I'm really good at dusting, and polishing, and hovering, and laundry, and I can—"

Snape sat up very straight. He was chalk white, nostrils flaring. Harry realised that while he'd started to tell Snape a little about the Dursleys, he'd never actually said anything about what they had done when they punished him.

In an attempt to reassure the man, Harry leaned closer and said, "They didn't hit me, sir. I promise. I mean, sometimes, they'd slap me a little, but they didn't hit me. And it wasn't so bad, really. I mean, it could've been a lot worse—" Harry didn't even realise he was rambling until Snape slapped a hand down on the low table in front of them.

Harry flinched.

"If you even think of justifying their abysmal behaviour, I will personally make sure that your less than pleasing hairstyle will be the least of your worries. Are we clear?"

Harry nodded rapidly, heart beating fast and hard.

"You have spoken with Derek."

"Yes."

"Good."

Harry nervously bit his lip. "It's hard. But I try."

"Abuse is never 'easy', Harry," Snape said. At Harry's quick, darting glance, and the slow flush creeping up his cheeks, Snape scowled. "And it _was_ abuse."

"I know. I mean, I sort of know, but…I'm not sure I really believe it. Derek's…well, um. We've been talking about a lot of things, but, um. The punishment thing? Um. Derek thinks that because my relatives kept saying how they didn't want me and hated me, I never really got the whole responsibility thing. They never made me feel bad about lying, or breaking the rules, because most of the time, it meant I got away, or got fed, or wasn't locked up. He says I learned evasion, how to get away and how to be invisible instead of remorse, guilt or, you know," Harry whispered. "They weren't consistent.

"Sometimes Uncle would just shout at me if he caught me nicking some of Dudley's old toys, but then, if Aunt caught me sneaking away some food, she'd chase after me with a frying pan. Or she'd slap me. Once, before I knew not to get better grades than Dudley, they kept me locked up in my cupboard for over a week. I kept scratching and scratching at the door to get out. I needed the loo so badly, and my tummy was hurting something awful, I—"

Snape cupped Harry's cheek. "Harry."

"Sir?"

Looking Harry straight in the eye, he said, voice clear, "It was not your fault. You deserve better: the best. I never want you to fear my temper, or hand. I want you to always do your best. I want you to thrive and shine. I want you to be just you. I want you to be happy, cared for and, dare I say it, loved. Do you understand me? You are worth the world, and more.

"I am glad you told me, Harry," Snape finished. "Telling someone is always another step towards absolution. I know it is not easy, so make no mistake in that I am very pleased that you have chosen to confide in me. Each time, it is a little bit easier. Or so I found."

Harry blinked. He didn't realise until then that he was holding on to Snape's arm with a bruising grip. "But…you're so strong! You're brave, and brilliant, and you know tons of spells, and—"

"And I was a child, Harry. My father was a grown man. What could I possibly have done?"

—x—

And if you're interested:

[Harry's T-shirt](http://rlv.zcache.com/im_so_gay_t_shirt-p235684001184551254n702_325.jpg)   
[Snape's T-shirt](http://images0.cpcache.com/product/268136560v4_480x480_Front_Color-Black.jpg)


	15. New Orleans, part II

_I was a child, Harry; what could I possibly have done?_

The words kept playing in the back of Harry's head for the rest of the day.

—x—

Harry spent the morning doing something as unusual as buying books for himself. He couldn't remember the last time he bought a book for himself that didn't have anything to do with school. Then again, he'd never had proper pocket money either. It was just another part of his and Snape's test to see if they could function as a family. Snape himself was going to meet up with a couple potions researchers. He did this every other day or so, and was always gone for almost the entire day. Harry didn't mind so much, because on the days Snape didn't go away, the two of them always went out to explore together. When Harry was alone he roamed the part of the city that was nearby the hotel, but when he was with Snape they went places Harry had never even heard of.

The café he found after hunger had made itself known was situated in the basement beneath the large public library in the Magical Quarter. The café was original in that it had plants everywhere – thriving plants. There were hibiscuses in full bloom in every colour imaginable, bougainvillea in pinks and yellows, colourful vriesea, sturdy, large dracaena in the corners and looping and climbing cissus along the windows, where orchids hung in baskets. The dark green in the plants only served to bring out the flowers more, and the lighter green of the cissus set it all in contrast. It was a little bit like walking inside a greenhouse.

Harry found himself an out of the way table, where he made himself comfortable. He had only just started to look at the menu when the chair opposite him was pulled out, and someone sat down.

"Um."

"Harry, right?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah. Who're you?"

The bloke grinned. "We met last night. Mike was trying to chat you up."

Frowning, Harry gave the bloke a onceover. Tousled mousy hair, yellow eyes behind square glasses, a quick and easy grin that revealed pointed teeth. "You had purple hair," Harry stated.

"Yup. Boss won't stand for it though. So, what you having, then?"

Harry looked back at the menu. "I don't know."

"The burger and fries with pineapple and cheese is my latest favourite." Harry's stomach growled at the mention of a burger – a proper, thick burger. The waiter laughed. "Sounds like you're starved."

Harry shook his head. "Dad's a veggie. He won't stand for red meat in his house. God, I'd kill for a steak or a burger sometimes. I didn't think it was possible to have cravings until I moved in with him."

"So, a burger then? Rare? Well done? You're human, right?"

"Rather," Harry drawled. "I don't mind if it's a little red, but I'd rather have it well-done than bloody."

"Duly noted, kind sir," the waiter quipped back in a bad, faux British English accent. He paused. "You mind if I take my break with you? I mean, I ain't thrilled about eating alone out back."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind."

While Harry waited for his food, and his company, he perused the books he had bought. One of them was on how to create your own dreamcatcher. The dreamcatchers that worked best were the ones made by the user. He had also bought books on vampires, werewolves, something called Herbmagic, and a study on the rights the different species Harry's own country classified as 'Dark' and 'dangerous' had in the USA. It was this last book he was reading when the waiter returned with the food.

"Heard something about your country being a bit racist."

"I didn't know we were. Well, not this much, or that America was so different. I know werewolves are basically hated on sight, but…I guess I never realised it was so bad." Harry closed his book, pushed it out of the way and accepted his plate. The waiter put down his plate, took off his apron, then plunked down a small basket with two bottles on the table. "I suppose the one perk you have when you grow up among Muggles is that a lot of the prejudices of the Wizarding world just pass straight over your head."

Harry reached for one of the bottles of pop and placed it in front of his plate, then began looking for cutlery. "No forks?"

"Why'd you need one? Finger food, man."

Harry considered the food from that angle. The burger one could obviously eat with your hands, and the chips were thick. There wasn't any salad, at all. So there really wasn't anything that required a fork, except for Harry's manners. Then again, Snape wasn't here. Not that the man had ever berated him for his table manners – and, in the case of table manners, his relatives certainly weren't here.

Harry grabbed one of the chips, dipped it in some ketchup then bit the top half off. It was steaming hot, but still good.

"Your name _is_ Harry, right? I'm Lukas."

"Yeah."

"Just checking. Mike's made up stranger stuff."

"Was he really trying to chat me up?"

Lukas shrugged. "Who knows? Vampires go after anything that moves when they're on a feeding roll."

"So, they're basically sluts?" Harry asked, tiny smirk on his face.

Lukas grinned. "Oh, don't let them hear you say that, man. They'd be totally offended. Anyway, most of them have a few 'regulars', you know. People who don't mind getting snacked on 'cause it feels so damn good. Or so my sister says," Lukas explained. "I got to know Mike through her. They went to school together."

"So he wasn't that much older, then?"

"Well, my sis is thirty-four, eleven years older than me." Lukas gave Harry a pointed onceover. "And you ain't over twenty, man."

"My dad would kill me," Harry stated. "Or, rather, kill him." Lukas didn't look as if he thought Snape could stand a chance against a vampire. So Harry smiled smugly and explained. "His name is Severus Snape, and he's absolutely brilliant with potions. He's a genius."

Lukas cocked his head to the side. "Wasn't Snape the guy who was apprenticed to that Belby when he made that Wolfsbane potion? People were all wondering if Belby had really invented it or not, 'cause he'd never been into potions like that before. And everyone was already talking about what a whiz Snape was, 'cause he'd created that anti-bloodlust potion the year before, as proof that he was good enough with potions to be accepted in the mastery program."

Harry blinked, then he grinned. "He's _so_ brilliant. I know he can brew the Wolfsbane potion. But he's good with spells, too. Just look at my hair."

"I thought it was cute."

Harry glared.

"What? It is. I'm gonna try it next time we go clubbing. See how many girls I get."

"I have pigtails because Dad is a vindictive bastard when you tease him and forget to cover yourself properly," Harry muttered. "Not to get girls."

"Hey, I know! You should come with us. We usually hang at that place next to your hotel. The girls would totally dig your accent."

All the talk of girls was making Harry a bit uncomfortable, but not enough for Harry to contradict it. He shook his head. "Can't. I'm sixteen."

"Wednesdays is booze free."

"Dad has pictures. Incriminating pictures. I'm not going near that place." Harry took a bite of his burger. "It had something to do with new blood on the streets," he drawled.

Lukas snorted. "Yeah, I can see why he'd be worried about that. Mike was all but drooling over you yesterday. Kept complaining about how bland everything tasted." He shrugged. "Vampires, man. What can you do?"

"Stay far away?"

"He knows where you live."

"So, what? He'll come sneaking in through the window?"

Lukas winked. "You should be so lucky. Most of the time they have this tactic. They call it 'spike the drinks, seduce, bite, move on'. Sometimes, if you're really 'lucky', they'll even fuck you. Personally, I made a point of staying away. There were a couple of Veela in my year, and, _damn_ they were hot. I mean, even the male Veela got my blood pumping, and I don't even swing that way. You know what I'm saying?"

Harry swallowed. "There are…male Veela?" he whispered. Fleur was beautiful – even he couldn't deny having been a little attracted to her. And she'd been a woman. But a bloke who was a Veela… "That's got to be bloody hot," he concluded at last, out loud.

"Not really my kind of thing."

Harry shrugged. "I guess. I've only met a half-Veela, though. And she's really hot. So, yeah, I guess I can see what you're talking about."

"But anyway, sometimes we hang there during the day. It's just a café then, you know."

Harry shrugged. "I guess. I dunno," he said, toying with his chips.

"Naw, Daddy's little boy, are we?" Lukas taunted. Affronted, Harry looked up and glared, only to receive a cheeky wink. "No, seriously, man. Just ask. I promise, it'll be fun. Maybe snag some sweet romance with the ladies, hmm? Exciting adventure to brag about when you get back home?"

"I don't kiss and tell," Harry drawled.

In his mind, he was already turning different proposals around, trying to figure out the best, and safest, way to ask Snape for permission. It annoyed him a bit that he suddenly had to ask for permission to go do something he wanted. He was sixteen, after all. He knew how to look after himself, when to say no, and how to be careful.

It wasn't like he'd been doing it all his life, now was it?

—x—

"My, my, what have we here," a sly voice drawled in Harry's ear. Harry shivered.

Harry had only just entered the hotel. He was a in the hallway that led to the lifts, when he felt someone sneak up behind him. Harry never heard anything, until the words were whispered. No steps, couldn't feel breath against his ear. Nothing.

"Michael? What are you doing?" Harry asked, turning around.

Michael grinned. "It was so boring last night, after Luke and I got out."

"Okay?" Harry felt rather uncomfortable. Lukas had said something about Michael not giving up on getting a taste of Harry, hadn't he? Harry just hadn't thought Lukas had been all that serious at the time. It didn't sit well with Harry. He was a private person – he wasn't really sure he wanted a vampire snacking on him, much less try and, um, fuck him.

"Mmhmm, you wouldn't believe how tasteless everything is once you have your mind set on something a bit more…spicy."

"Oh," Harry said, feigning innocence, "you mean like when you mix up apples and potatoes? Happens to me all the time—"

"Cheeky." Michael grinned again. "How about I buy you dinner. See if I can convince you to partake in something a bit more…pleasurable."

Harry cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore the hot spike of interest that rushed through him. Michael wasn't bad looking, far from it, and the offer of a night out was tempting. Right up 'till the point where Michael wanted to put his fangs in him. That part wasn't attractive in the slightest.

"Some other time, maybe."

Michael opened his mouth to protest, Harry guessed, but something else interrupted them before Michael had a chance to say anything.

"Harry?"

Harry swallowed, then darted a quick look down the hall where Snape was striding towards him, a rather relaxed, if amused, expression on his face.

Michael looked over his shoulder, frowning a little. "That's, um." Harry cleared his throat. "That's my dad."

"Snape, the potions master?"

"Yeah."

Only, Snape wasn't _really_ his dad and Harry had _sort of_ forgotten to mention the bit about how he had, almost, been chatted up by a vampire last night.

"Well, then." Michael flashed Harry a pointy grin, then he leaned forwards, quick as lightning, and nipped Harry's earlobe, whispering, "later, Harry," in the process, before simply vanishing.

Harry froze on the spot. He flinched when Snape, seconds later, grabbed him by the shoulders. "Where did he go?" he yelped. "You can't apparate—"

" _Vampires_ use shadows to transport themselves," Snape said, putting heavy emphasis on that word. "We are going to our room, and you, _Mr Potter_ , are going to talk." Snape was at his most menacing worst. "It is _not_ negotiable."

They walked in silence, Harry feeling Snape's heavy hand on his shoulder the entire time. It wasn't restricting, or clamping down on him, but it was _there_. Its presence was enough for Harry to fidget. Once back in their room, Harry was directed over to sit on the sofa. Snape, on the other hand, hitched up his trousers a bit and sat down opposite him, on the table.

Their eyes were on the same level. Harry found it uncanny.

"Talk."

Harry swallowed. "I met him last night, when I couldn't sleep. He sat down next to me at the bar. I didn't think it was a big deal, you know? I didn't really know for sure he was a vampire until he came out and said it. He didn't feel like that one outside did. And he was drinking bourbon, but then I mentioned you, and he said you'd invented this potion that helped vampires deal with bloodlust." Harry tried to speak clearly, but every so often he realised he was mumbling, and would raise his voice. Harry told Snape about Lukas, too, and the lunch they'd had only a couple of hours ago.

"—I didn't really think he was serious when he said that Michael wouldn't let up on me until he'd, you know. I just… I didn't think Michael would really come looking for me, or anything. Honestly. We were just talking."

Snape's expression remained unmoved. The man leaned forward a bit, then tilted Harry's head to the side. With his thumb Snape brushed over the earlobe that Michael had nipped at. A tingle shot down Harry's spine. "And yet, he bit you."

"He didn't—!" Harry protested.

"No?" Snape pressed down lightly with his thumb. Another tingle shot down Harry's spine, this time accompanied by a small, sharp burst of pain. "I do believe he sampled you."

"Lukas wanted me to come with them the next time they went out," Harry said, thereby changing the subject. He really didn't want to talk to Snape about something that he couldn't even define in his mind yet.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "No."

Harry stiffened and narrowed his eyes. "They don't serve alcohol on Wednesdays. The way I understood it, the place is a café for twenty-four hours once a week."

"So therefore there are suddenly no vampires?" Snape wondered.

"You don't like vampires?" Harry asked. "Because it sounded like you liked them when you warned me against them."

"I don't like vampires in close proximity to you," Snape corrected. "Vampires as a species…" He lifted a shoulder. "I'm not sure I care one way or the other. They are not better or worse than humans."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I can take care of myself. I'm sixteen. Next year, I'll be an adult. And, anyway, Lukas isn't a vampire. His ulterior motive is using me to get girls. I think I can live with that," Harry drawled.

Tilting his head back, Snape regarded Harry with a long, guarded look. "If you want me as your father you will have to learn that my word and will is heavier than yours. If I say no, then no is exactly what I mean. If there is something I don't want you to do, then I will not permit you to do it. While you may question me, and argue with me, it won't make me change my mind."

"I'm not a kid!" Harry exploded. "I've been deciding for myself since I was little! And, anyway, if I go with Lukas _during the day_ , then there won't be any alcohol or vampires or whatever—!"

"You are sixteen, Harry!" Snape snapped. "How old do you think Michael is? Or Lukas, for that matter? Do I really need to mention Charlie Weasley?"

"Lukas is around Charlie's age, but he's straight. Just 'cause I'm gay doesn't mean I want every bloke I see, you know! I like him because he's funny, and if we stayed here longer, I think we'd become great friends."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And Michael?"

Harry fumed. "Thirty-four," he muttered.

"I'm thirty-six, Harry." Snape gave the boy a dark look. "Do you see why I don't want you to go?"

Harry's lips were pursed, his cheeks red with anger and stubbornness. And he remained absolutely silent.

"You are even more obstinate than your mother," Snape finally snapped. "Do I need to forbid you?"

At once, Harry's head snapped up. "No!" he shouted. "Fine! I won't bloody go, but you can't fucking stop me from going to see Lukas when he works, or—Mmphmmf!"

Snape glared, his dark eyes glittering. He was holding his hand over Harry's mouth. "You have the foulest mouth, boy. Your incessant cussing is uncivilised and uncouth. This is your first and only warning. One more vulgar word out of that mouth of yours, and I will wash it out with soap."

"You can't do that!" Harry immediately protested the second Snape removed his hand.

"I think you will find that I can, without hesitation" Snape assured, his countenance dark. "Now, as to your other little friend. You are perfectly correct that I cannot stop you from visiting him. But I can put restrictions on you. If you behave yourself and obey, there will not be a problem."

Harry spent over an hour that night attacking his journal. What had been so restricting with his first one had been the lines on the pages. This one had no lines, and in Harry's mind that offered freedom. He wrote, mixing small and big letters, upper case and lower case, and if there was any logic to his ramblings, it was only apparent to Harry himself. There were sketches crammed in between bits of text, crude drawings and messy doodles.

—x—

The next day, before breakfast, Snape finally relented and removed the spell from Harry's hair. They spent the rest of the day visiting the local art galleries and museums.

It wasn't until another two days later that Harry ran into Lukas again.

—x—

It wasn't raining like it had done for three days in a row. Harry took the rare opportunity the sun offered and sat down on a bench outside. He had a book, a sliced apple in a box – all the weeks of Snape providing him with snacks in the form of sliced up fruit had reminded him of how all the kids in primary school except him had always had fruit in bite-size portions with them – and most of the morning to himself.

It was the politics book. The first few chapters dealt with werewolves. Harry was shocked – in a good way – to learn that many of the wizards and witches that had first travelled to America had been werewolves. After all, if you're not welcome somewhere, why stay when a whole new country is being created? So the werewolves had gone, and they had been influential in the creation of Wizarding America. From early on, there had been provisions in place to make sure werewolves didn't infect humans by accident. Since the invention of the Wolfsbane potion, the Ministry of Magic in cooperation with the major hospitals had made sure that all those who were in need of the potion would have access to it.

If taking the Wolfsbane potion was made mandatory in the UK, would people stop being afraid? Harry doubted it, but it would be start.

"Hey, Harry." The bench jostled a little as Lukas sat down. "How you doing?"

Harry started a little, haven't heard Lukas approach. "Fine. You?" He tucked away his book in his bag, then packed away the empty container where the apple slices had been as well.

"Oh, never better. Have the day off."

"Michael bit my ear," Harry blurted.

Lukas blinked. "Told you he was gonna come after you."

Harry grimaced. "I know. I didn't think he would _literally_ come after me, you know? I thought you were exaggerating."

"With vampires, there's no such thing. You okay?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not keen on being eaten on. I don't care how hot he is, I just don't like it."

Lukas was quiet for a moment. "Did you just say you think Mike is hot, man?"

Blinking, Harry thought back. "I think I did, mate."

"That's, like, totally gay."

Harry snorted. "Yeah. A rampant homosexual, that's me," he muttered.

Lukas twisted a little so as to have a better look of Harry. "You serious?"

Running a hand through his liberated, wild as ever hair, Harry sighed. "Yes. Sorry. I usually don't just blurt it out like that. I know it makes people uncomfortable, I just—"

"Hey, chill!" Lukas exclaimed. "I went to school with loads of vampires and Veela and people like that. They aren't exactly known for being frigid, if you know what I mean?" Lukas waggled his eyebrows, making Harry laugh. "I heard tales of orgies and fuck fests. Shit, man, this one time, I walked in on one of the Veela banging my best pal – who'd always proclaimed himself to be _the_ straightest man to ever walk the planet. Oh, I teased him for weeks about that." Lukas grinned. "So, sorry, man, but you're gonna have to try harder than that to make me uncomfortable. Just saying."

" _Banging_? As in—"

"And I ain't gonna keep you supplied with filthy gay porn, all right?" Lukas laughed, shaking his head. "I know this store if you want stuff like that. Mags, lubes, condoms, the kit."

Harry's eyes were probably a bit wider than usual. But everything Lukas had just told him… Well, it was a lot to think about, certainly. And still, despite all that, Harry couldn't help but be curious. "What kind of shop?"

"Sex toys and stuff," Lukas said, as if it wasn't a big deal. Harry's eyes widened a bit more. "Want me to take you, don't you?"

"Fuck, yes," Harry said. "I didn't know shops like that existed, or—"

"Now, see, that's 'cause all you English dudes are way too big prudes."

They set off, Harry trusting Lukas to know the way. There was a small scuffle of sorts, when they first tried to go inside the shop. Harry was sixteen, and he didn't look like he was a day older, either. But Lukas was over eighteen, and he was good at convincing people to look the other way. Besides, it was a magical shop. Magic judged persons based on their intentions. That, and the shop was divided in two. The first part held books, the section in the back behind the curtained doorway held the actual toys and naughty bits. So long as they remained in the bookshop part, there wouldn't be a problem.

Harry certainly had no problem staying with the books. His ears were bright red, of course, but his shaggy hair hid them from view.

"Ah, I remember when Wendelina the Wicked was Seeker for the Smashing Hornets," Lukas said, perusing a calendar. Harry gathered that it was an American Quidditch team, and sidled closer to see what Lukas was looking at. "Sam the Snidget just isn't the same, aye?" Lukas teased as he held up the December spread.

Sam was a blonde, freckled, muscled Seeker. He was slim, sweaty and half naked. Harry had never known a swarm of Snitches and Snidgets could be used quite like that. Sam stood leaning casually against a tree and, every now and then, he would glance at you, then run his hands down his stomach and wink.

"Wow."

Lukas sniggered. "This is the Men's Edition. There's one with bosoms, too."

"I'll never get tits," Harry said. Turning the calendar over, there was a small picture of each month, giving the buyer a taste of what the calendar contained. September had a dark skinned man and a gleaming, dark green snake.

"I'll never get what so good about having a cock up your ass," Lukas countered.

Harry sputtered. Then he said, "Yeah, me, too."

Lukas gave him a weird look. "Seriously?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I get that I'm only sixteen and that I might want to try it in the future, but right now…? No, thanks." Harry carefully folded the calendar closed and was about to place it back on the rack when Lukas grabbed it. "What—?"

"Think of it as a Christmas gift."

Harry went red, even as he grinned. "You kinky bastard."

Lukas returned the grin. "I try."

Rolling his eyes, Harry butted Lukas with his shoulder. "Thanks. You want the—?"

"Yeah. Every bachelor needs one," Lukas declared as he reached for the calendar with the scantily dressed ladies and handed it to Harry. "You getting those books, too? No porn mags?"

"No porn," Harry agreed. "These books are illustrated."

A few of them were plain and simple erotica, but Harry had picked history books as well as one or two 'illustrated guides', and a book on facts about gay sex.

There was no way in hell, after all, that he was ever going to ask Snape, or anyone else, for that matter, about sex.

As Harry went back to the shelf with erotica, he spied the shop attendant walking around the corner to see what he and Lukas were doing. Being satisfied that they were still on the 'right' side of the shop, she went back to the till. Harry was just looking over a set of books that seemed rather good, in an adventure series, when Lukas sneaked up behind him.

"You know," Lukas whispered in his ear, "I could go to the dark side and snag a dildo or two for you."

Harry went beet red. "I don't… I. Oh, fuck."

"No, seriously," Lukas said, for once not sounding like he was either teasing or poking fun at Harry.

"I don't like the idea of…having anything up. You know. _There_ ," Harry whispered. "Thanks, but…"

"Some lube, then?"

Harry smiled. "Why not?"

While Lukas went into the back of the shop, Harry continued browsing the books. The set of adventure novels was tempting enough that Harry grabbed all seven of them. Deciding he was done, it was with a considerable stack of books that he hefted over to the cash desk. The sound when he put his stack down was rather loud.

The woman behind the desk blinked, took a closer look at the books, then pouted. "Don't tell me the guy you came in with is your boyfriend?"

Harry shook his head. "No, most definitely not. I hear he is rather straight."

The woman's eyes went a bit wide. "And you're English, too! _So_ unfair." She rang up his books, quirked an eyebrow at the calendar, and packed it all into a back with a featherlight charm on it. Harry had only just paid for his books when Lukas game back, three round glass bottles in his hands, a small box of something tucked up under his arm.

Once outside, Lukas and Harry made a swift exchange of the calendars, and Lukas tucked his small bag inside Harry's, shrinking the calendar and pocketing it.

"Lunch?"

"Ravished," Harry agreed.

Lukas grinned. "She gave me her number. Me thinks I have a date."

"Yeah, she was ever so displeased that I wasn't available, but I guess she felt it was okay to settle for you."

They met up with a few of Lukas' friends for lunch. Despite only knowing Lukas, Harry ended up having a rather good time.

The problem with touring a city with someone who lived in said city was that you trusted that person to know where you were. Lukas had to go home after lunch, which was fine with Harry. It wasn't until after he had left that Harry realised he didn't have the slightest clue as to where he was. One of Lukas' friends, Steve, a younger cousin Harry thought Lukas had said, took pity on him and offered to walk him home.

Tall and dark, with black hair and golden eyes, Harry pinned him down as a werewolf as well. That, and his teeth looked sharp in the same way Lukas' did. His skin was much darker than Zabini's, and what had look good on Zabini, looked hot on Steve.

Mostly, Harry reckoned, because Steve was all muscle and controlled strength.

Giving the rest of the friends a wave, Harry waited for Steve to say his goodbyes as well before walking out of the café.

Harry wasn't quite prepared for the catcalls when he and Steve finally walked away.

Steve gave him a sheepish grin. "Sorry 'bout that."

"About what?"

"The catcalls?" Steve suggested, a hint of a smile round his eyes. "Ever since I came out, I swear, they do all they can to rub my face in it the second I go off with a guy."

Harry laughed. "So it's not that Lukas told them that I'm gay, then?"

Steve's grin was decidedly feral, but also very friendly and happily surprised. "Really? You're gay, gorgeous, and English? This must be my lucky day."

Harry shrugged. He'd never really considered himself anything special, but he couldn't deny that he enjoyed being told he was looking good. "I wouldn't worry about your friends. Dad does the same to me, so, you know." With a laugh, he told Steve about the T-shirts Snape had arranged for 'Santa' to bring to them. It wasn't long before Steve joined in as well.

Harry couldn't pinpoint the exact moment Steve put his arm around Harry's shoulder, but he did know it was there when they finally reached Harry's hotel.

It was probably what prompted Harry to ask Steve to come up to the room Harry shared with Snape.

"Your old man in?" Steve wondered as they stood in the lift.

"Dunno. He had some meeting with a potions master or two. Sometimes he's gone all day and half the night, other times he's back in time for lunch."

As a precaution, when they reached the door, Harry knocked before unlocking it. It was dark inside, no sign of Snape anywhere, or a sign that he had come back but gone out for lunch. Harry turned on the lights, put his bags down by the bed, then invited Steve to sit down on the sofa while Harry got them something to drink.

"Is coke okay?"

"It's fine," Steve said, accepting his bottle with a smile. Harry dithered a little about where to sit, before giving himself a mental shake and sitting down next to Steve.

Harry took a swig of the coke.

Steve looked at him, put his bottle on the table, then grabbed Harry's and put that away, too.

"Steve?"

Steve smiled. "You've been staring."

Harry grinned. "Well, you're fit. How can I not?"

Holding up a arm, Steve flexed the muscles, showing off his bulging biceps. Harry laughed. "See? How could I not stare?" Outside, Steve had worn a jacket, but now that they were inside he had taken it off. The black T-shirt he had been wearing underneath was skin-tight, clinging to Steve's body. "You're like a statue."

"You have the greenest eyes."

Harry shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious about that. "Are you a werewolf?" he wondered.

"Yeah," Steve said. "That a problem?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I thought you were, but I wasn't sure. You have sharp teeth, like Lukas."

"That I do." Steve reached out and placed a heavy hand on Harry's thigh, squeezing lightly.

After a slight moment of hesitation, Harry smiled. Then he reached down and placed his own hand over Steve's, mostly to make sure Steve didn't try anything Harry didn't want him to do. "How old are you?" Harry wondered casually.

Steve glanced sharply at him. "Eighteen. You?"

"Sixteen."

Steve smiled. "Goody."

"Yeah? How's that?"

Steve didn't answer verbally. What he did do was reach out and pluck Harry's glasses from his face. Then he framed Harry's face, long fingers tangling in Harry's hair, and pulled him in for a kiss. Harry hesitated for less than a second before he slid his hands up Steve's muscled chest, feeling the pectorals flex underneath his hands, then snaked one arm around Steve's neck and tugged him closer.

They were still snogging on the sofa, Steve stretched out over Harry, when Snape came back.

"As delightful I am sure that is, I would be most appreciative if you would refrain from molesting each other on my sofa." Snape's cool drawl sent a bucket of icy water over Harry and his eyes shot open.

"Shit!" he hissed, his horror of being caught necking another bloke in front of Snape was mirrored on Steve's face. They fumbled frantically until they were finally sitting up, a whole cushion of free space between them on the sofa. Harry smoothed down his shirt. It was short-sleeved, with buttons running down the front that had been halfway undone by Steve and was now hurriedly being re-done by Harry's less than steady hands.

"Excellent," Snape said, the bloody smirk of his firmly in place. "Harry, your belt."

Harry went even redder, cursing Snape under his breath as he buckled his belt.

Steve looked more composed, but his skin was so dark Harry doubted it would show when he blushed. If he blushed. Still, at Snape's comment about the state of Harry's belt, Harry could spy Steve's hands closing the top button of his jeans.

"Now, if you would be so kind as to introduce us." Snape was still smirking, that glint in his eye that told Harry he was finding the whole situation hilarious.

So Harry, forgetting for a moment his embarrassment about being caught and apprehension about who, exactly, he had let everyone think Snap was to him, said, the glint in his eye matching Snape's, "Dad, this is Steve, Lukas' cousin. Steve, this is my Dad, Severus Snape."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back in the UK for the Snapes

 

"—the look on his face was…" Harry trailed off, picking at the frayed hem of the old jumper he'd nicked from Snape only that morning. He wasn't sure what to say, not feeling all that confident that he had the words to describe what the look on Snape's face had been after Harry had cheekily called him 'Dad'.

On the one hand, seeing Snape's face with his eyes wide and mouth half-open had, even for that split second, sort of been worth it. Snape being Snape, he had, of course, collected himself in no time. In an even shorter amount of time, he had been on top of the situation, making sure to do his very best to embarrass the life out of Harry. Maybe a little of Steve's, too, come to think about it.

Then again, it had been kind of nice. Snape had teased the both of them for a bit, but he hadn't really intruded on them, or forced Steve to leave, or forced Harry to stop seeing Steve, for that matter. It didn't matter that Harry and Steve had only known each other for a few hours – not that Snape had known that at the time – but Snape had, well. He'd been sort of cool about it. And he'd taken them all out to dinner.

That had been more than nice. If anything, it had almost been brilliant. Because, Harry realised as he lay in bed later that night, trying to sleep but unable to quench the grin on his face, in a way it had been Harry, his Dad, and a new mate out for a bite. Seeing as how they had been in a, ah, 'gay friendly' part of the Magical Quarter, no one had much minded when Steve slid a friendly had down Harry's arm, or when Harry grinned and stole quick kiss from Steve. Or when they held hands on the way out.

Naturally, Snape waited until he and Harry were alone before teasing him mercilessly about it.

And for an entire night, Harry'd had someone to call Dad.

It had been absolutely  _perfect_.

Now, of course, Harry wanted nothing more than to call Snape Dad again. He was just a bit, well, apprehensive about it. It wasn't that he thought Snape would disapprove or mind it or anything. In fact, Snape had seemed to warm up to the title pretty quickly that one night in New Orleans.

Derek regarded him with an open gaze, waiting calmly for Harry. Just like he always did. Well, not always, Harry amended, but the man  _always_  knew when to push and when to lay off.

"It wasn't disgusted. His look, I mean. He looked a bit, I dunno, startled, I suppose," Harry mumbled. "He didn't really say anything 'bout it. He's sort of good at sneaking, so I guess he's good at pretending, but… D'you think it was stupid of me? To…" Harry trailed off again, this time looking straight into Derek's blue eyes, asking for words he wasn't sure he had, much less knew how to express.

"You set out in quest for a father, Harry," Derek said, voice calm and quiet, but his eyes were smiling. "You might not have been aware of the fact, but  _I_  have been. As for Professor Snape, he is a complex man, and hard to read. But he  _is_  a man of his word, and he  _is_  honourable. I think we can agree upon that much, at least."

Harry nodded. "I kept telling everyone I met that he was my Dad. I sort of didn't mean to the first time, but then…I sort of really liked saying it, so I kept on letting everyone think I was Harry Snape, the normal kid of the brilliant Potions Master. It was so much easier. And…"

"Yes?" Derek prompted, giving Harry the nudge he needed.

Harry's smile was shy and small. "He gave me  _so_ much. First it was the glasses, then letting me decorate his flat for Christmas, and buying the tickets to New Orleans, and he gave me  _tons_ of presents on Christmas, and he kept… He says he cares. That I deserve so much more than…"

"And before that he took you in," Derek filled in, when it became obvious that Harry wasn't about to complete the sentence that he had left hanging in the air.

Harry nodded, his smile a tiny bit wider. "Yeah. He…" Harry cleared his throat. "Um. We talked about, about…adoption. I'd been dropping some pretty heavy hints before we went to New Orleans. He said we could use the holiday as a test."

Derek raised an eyebrow. Harry couldn't tell if Derek was surprised, impressed, amused, or some mix between all three. "And how did that work?"

Harry snorted. "It's bloody hard doing what he says! I'm so used to making all decisions by myself, that I sort of forget that I'm supposed to have his permission if I want to go out, or have a friend over, or, um, a boyfriend spend the night. No one ever really cared about that before. If I wanted to do something, I just did it. It's…annoying.

"At the same time, it's such a bloody relief to have Snape watch my back. He looks out for me, takes care of me, and makes sure I'm fine. And then I get annoyed with myself for getting annoyed with him over who gets the final say whenever he squeezes my shoulder or gets me stupid T-shirts or, y'know, does some other, um, parental stuff."

A smirk flitted in and out of existence on Derek's face. "Make sure you communicate with each other."

Harry nodded. "He said I could argue or protest all I wanted, but in the end his word was stronger than mine."

Harry and Snape had got back from New Orleans only two days ago, and Harry still felt a little out of it because of the time difference. School would start up tomorrow, and what with everything that had happened since the start of the holiday, Harry was feeling suitably nervous. Ron and Hermione, even Fred, George and Ginny would have been told by now. They'd  _know_ they'd forgotten something by now.  _Tomorrow_  he'd be able to seek them out and talk to them, and he was feeling terrified. A part of him desperately wished that Mr and Mrs Weasley never told them, because if no one told tham, then they wouldn't know, and there would be no risk of Harry ever finding out whether or not Ron and Hermione truly cared about him, or the scar on his forehead more.

"And…"

"Yes?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I, um. I started doubting myself. I have a really hard time convincing myself I'm really worth all of this." Harry's fidgeting increased, and he twisted the material of his jumper around his fingers. "I feel like it's too much, sometimes. That it'll all come crashing down on me because I really don't deserve all this. And—"

The session that day was long, longer than usual, but Harry didn't really mind, because it helped him feel better about himself. Derek wanted him to take a small break every time he started doubting whether or not he was worth something. He would pause, close his eyes and think it over, or write it down in his journal. Then he was to replace himself, with another kid – Tom, for example – and consider again if that child deserved new clothes, care, or whatever it was Harry found himself questioning.

Because if Tom deserved it, then why didn't Harry?

—x—

Snape arrived to pick him up sometime when he was busy scratching notes into his journal. Harry had briefly shown it to Derek, and while the man had looked intrigued and pleased that Harry was using it so diligently, he hadn't actually looked close enough to read any of the words inside it, which Harry appreciated.

Harry may have been telling Derek a lot of what was going on in his mind, but that didn't mean he wanted Derek to read his thought processes, or what he had  _really_ thought of Steve's physique. Thinking of Steve brought Harry a pleasant buzz. They'd met another couple of times before it was time for Harry and Snape to go home. Lukas had joined them on some occasions, other times it had just been him and Steve. It was Steve and Lukas who had helped Harry set up a 'DropBox'. Snape, apparently, already had one – and had for years. Basically, it was a small box you placed your letters in. the box read the address on the envelope, and deposited the letter in the corresponding box. It was a quick and safe way to send letters across the world.

A small grin took place on Harry's face. Steve had been a brilliant kisser – and rather good at other practices, as well. And, Harry remarked, being with Steve had meant he wasn't as open a target for Michael as he had been before.

Of course, Snape had seen to it that Harry never really venture anywhere alone, either, after having been caught with the vampire nicking his ear, that one time.

Harry was finishing up a long rant about what, exactly, had made him feel so insecure whenever he had known that Michael was somewhere nearby back in New Orleans, when he realised that Derek was talking quietly to someone. Blinking to clear his vision, Harry was surprised to see Snape sitting in the chair across from Derek's desk. As the men looked rather comfortable, Harry realised they'd been sitting there for quite some time. Snape was wearing black jeans and a loose black long-sleeved T-shirt over a white shirt, looking as always very comfortable in the Muggle outfit. The robes hid it rather well, but Muggle clothes couldn't really do the same no matter how many sizes too large the tops Snape wore were, but fact was that Snape was a very thin man. Not dangerously thin like Harry had been last term, but not healthily thin, either.

Maybe that was why Snape had taken such measures with Harry, had gone to the lengths he had to make sure Harry started eating properly again, helped him with his diet and looked after him.

Maybe that was why Snape knew getting back on track was hard and difficult, the road littered with unavoidable setbacks. Was it because Snape had been there himself, once, struggling with food, nerves and ostracism? Unbidden, the memory of Harry's Dad came to mind, of the time Harry had watched Snape's pensive. Maybe Snape had been bullied? It left traces on you, no matter how long ago it had happened, like Harry only knew too well.

Closing his journal quietly, tucking away the biro in its spine, Harry rose and made his way over to the desk. He sat down on the arm of Snape's chair, but didn't say anything. They were discussing Tom's schoolwork, so it wasn't really a subject Harry felt he had anything to add to.

When they finally left Derek's office, it was nearing lunch. Snape led him to a nearby restaurant where they ate. Snape was finishing up his cup of coffee – to which he had added a liberal helping of milk – when he spoke up again. They had mostly been sitting in silence till that point, Harry having felt rather content going over the session head just had with Derek in his head, and Snape seemingly sharing the sentiment.

"I was wondering if perhaps a visit to the Ministry, as well as Gringotts, might not be in order," Snape murmured.

Harry blinked, startled, and looked up from his milkshake. There was only a bit of the creamy beverage left at the bottom, and he had been swirling his straw through it in mindless patterns. "What? Why?"

Snape looked away. He appeared to be rethinking what he had just said. "I need to…adjust my will, among other matters."

"Um." Harry cleared his throat. "Why?"

"It appears my living situation has changed," Snape said softly, casting a calculating look at Harry. "Has it not?"

Swallowing rather heavily, Harry chanced a hesitating smile and a jerky nod. "Yupp," he whispered, heart hammering wildly beneath his breastbone.

"It is far easier settling such matters with the goblins, without involving the Ministry," Snape went on. "The goblins are, after all, in charge of our inheritances. If I were to register you as a member of my family, they would accept it as a binding contract. In their eyes, you would be my rightful heir. In a sense, my son, even. Naturally, it does not work in reverse. I would  _not_ be able to access any of your previous inheritances, like you will have mine, were I to permit it.

"Purebloods do it, from time to time, when they find themselves without a direct heir. Instead of procreating, they locate a distant member of their family, and elevate their status by reregistering the relationship as head of the family and heir. In those cases…" Snape trailed off.

"Snape?" Harry prodded. He was by then leaning over the table, having listened to Snape's 'lecture' with much more eagerness than he ever had before. Snape might've been on him before about not having his 'priorities' straight, but Harry was perfectly aware of what was the most important.

As of right now?

Getting a dad was pretty much at the top.

Snape took a quick sip of his coffee. "Hmm, yes. In those instances, the head of the family would request a blood adoption, of sorts, to strengthen the already existing familial bond, no matter how strained and distant, between the two. Thus, the need to involve the Ministry would effectively be eliminated. Fortunately for us, purebloods are a hopelessly twisted and intermarried bunch."

"You're saying we're related?" Harry asked, frowning a bit. "You're a pureblood after all?"

Snape's grin was crooked. "Oh, no. I'm proper a half-blood. Mother, on the other hand, was a pureblood. As was your father," he said with a brief grimace.

"But, why can't we go to the Ministry?"

"I am still a Death Eater," Snape said. "While you may no longer be viewed as a celebrity, my status in their eyes has not changed. My monetary worth is not large enough for them to overlook that fact. Fortunately for us, goblins really couldn't care less."

Harry dared a smile. "So…basically, we're sneaking behind the back of the government? Why do they even let a loophole like that exist?"

"Because they are purebloods," Snape answered with a mocking tone. He touched his nose. "Cannot seem to look past their upturned noses, can they?"

Unable to help himself, Harry burst out laughing. Draining the last of his coffee, Snape favoured Harry with a smirk. "Ready to go, then?"

"Now?" Harry blurted, his eyes suddenly very wide.

Snape's eyebrows went up a little. "Unless you have changed your mind?" he drawled, tone dry.

Harry sputtered. " _No_! I— _No_! Never!"

The minute tenseness that had existed in Snape's shoulder's abruptly disappeared. Harry realised that Snape was just as nervous about this as he was – just as afraid of abandonment, of being left outside in the cold, being turned down,  _away_ , because he just wasn't 'good enough. It sent a shiver down' Harry's spine.

 _Snape wanted this just as much as Harry did_. The thought took hold in him, and swelled, until Harry was sure he was grinning like a fool.

—x—

The visit to Gringotts turned out to be rather short, considering what they were going to do. But then again, Harry considered, the goblins didn't really like wizards, so it wasn't all that strange that they wanted their wizard customers to leave the bank as quickly as possible, was it?

It was Snape who had stated their business, with Harry trailing behind him hidden beneath his invisibility cloak. As it turned out, while the cloak kept him hidden from wizards, it didn't do much in the way of keeping him out of sight from the goblins. Then again, Snape had probably known as much, because he'd mentioned both their names when he stated their business to the goblin sitting behind the desk.

Yes, Harry had been rather surprised when Snape fished it up from the back pocket of his jeans. Mainly because Harry hadn't known that Snape knew about it, much less where Harry actually kept it. Suspected, yes, but never really known for certain. He had been rather indignant about it – Snape going through his stuff, that was – until Snape had pointed out that since Harry kept his belongings abysmally unguarded, all that had been required on Snape's part had been a standard  _Accio_.

After being led to a small room of the side, accompanied by two rather angry looking goblins with wicked looking daggers strapped to their backs – Snape had quickly informed Harry that they were guards, but had been rather vague in pointing out exactly what they were guarding – Harry finally pulled off his cloak and took the available seat next to Snape.

So while Snape fixed up his will, Harry sat back and studied the murals on the walls. The depicted a great battle, that much Harry could tell, but he wasn't sure if the battle was against, or with, the huge, dragon-like people. They were scaly, like dragons, but walked mostly on two legs and had huge wings. Their ears were pointed and curved, almost like the fantasy-elves in the books Harry had read as a kid, and their fingers were curved with wicked sharp talons. In some of the murals, the goblins appeared to be fighting them, but in others they stood side by side, fighting creatures Harry suspected were humans. The humans looked fierce, savage and monstrous. They were drenched in blood. In some depictions, the appeared to be eating children, in others they were worshiping a goddess Harry had never seen before and, discounting the fact that the woman was naked and, well, a  _woman_ , Harry thought she kind of looked like the devil, only with six arms and four breasts.

Harry wondered if maybe that was how goblins still perceived humans, and why the goblins appeared to detest wizards so.

"Ow!" Harry hissed, dragging his eyes from the walls to Snape. He swatted away the pinching fingers, then rubbed the sore spot on his thigh, sending Snape a sulky glare in the process.

"Pay attention," Snape reprimanded him.

Harry dared a pout, a mere hint of his bottom lip protruding a tiny bit too much. He  _had_ been paying attention, just not to Snape as much as he had to the walls. "Sorry," he muttered.

"You want to add the boy to your family register?"

"Yes," Snape answered, his tone as short and clipped as the goblin's.

"Relation?"

"Unknown."

The goblin scowled. Harry sort of wished he had been paying attention, because he had no idea what the goblin's name was. Snape continued as if he hadn't noticed the goblin's sudden drop in temperament. "There is a lineage book in the Prince vault. There should be one in the Potter's as well."

"Um, no, there's just money in my vault," Harry put in.

"That's a trust vault," the goblin snapped. "Money is transferred to it on an annual basis from the main vault. Access to the main vault is claimed on your twenty-first birthday, as per the conditions of the inheritance laws set forth by your ancestors.  _Varghall!_ " the goblins snapped, prompting one of the guards to step forward. What followed was a long barked stream of gobbledegook.

In no time at all a legal document of some kind was slammed down on the desk in front of Harry that Snape just as quickly snatched up to read through, much to the irritation of the disgruntled goblins. "What is it?" Harry wondered.

"A requisition," Snape absentmindedly answered, then after a short pause he added, "You may sign it."

"Thanks," Harry said and snatched the piece of parchment out of Snape's hands. He was handed a quill by one of the goblins. The document was signed shortly after that. The goblins were quick to grab it. The guard Varghall disappeared with it clenched in a fist.

While they waited, the other guard placed a bowl with some dried twigs – well, the looked like twigs – in it on the desk in front of Harry, along with a vial Harry suspected contained mercury, as wells as a long, shiny,  _sharp_ dagger.

"Master Snape, you know what to do?"

Snape nodded. "Yes." Then he turned to Harry, who was still staring at the gleaming dagger. "Harry. Look at me."

Wide-eyed, Harry stared at Snape.

"We will hold hands. The dagger will be held between our palms. Tinkkap will then twist the dagger and pull it out."

"You could've said he was gonna slice my hand open!" Harry hissed, eyes narrowed. "I don't like sharp things, Snape! They hurt, and—"

"It's the only way." Snape cleared his throat. "Now, after that he will pour the Essence of Aether—"

"—it looks like mercury," Harry protested. "That's poisonous."

Snape's left eyebrow twitched. "It is. Thankfully, Essence of Aether is  _not_ mercury. Now, as I said, Tinkkap will pour the liquid over our hands. Mixed with the blood it will drop down over the bowl. When it comes in contact with the dried herbs, a mist will be created. Combined with the other two elements, it will prompt the magic inherent to all wizards to act and bind us together."

"As family."

"Yes."

Harry was frowning. "Are you sure about this? It's just, is all seems a little, um, bogus?"

Snape's eyes glittered. "I assure you, it will work. The technique is ancient and powerful. Banned under Ministry law, of course, but they turn a blind eye because, as you very well now, the Ministry…?"

"Are all a bunch of hypocritical purebloods," Harry dutifully filled in.

"Precisely." Snape turned serious again. Well, Harry amended,  _more_ serious. Outside of his home, Snape was always serious. "I know we have not discussed this, but do you want to change your name or keep it?"

The question threw Harry and for long moments he didn't really know what to say. On the one hand, he loved his name.

Harry James Potter.

It was who he was; who he had always been. But at the same time, it was just a name. He didn't remember ever being anyone else. It was the name his parents had chosen for him. His parents who, save for a few photographs and a memory brought forth by dementors, would always remain faceless entities in stories told by strangers, friends and enemies. He didn't know the sound of their voices, the smell of their skin or the touch of their hands.

Harry had never heard his Mum laugh or his Dad shout. He had never seen them smile at him, or felt them hug him. Because they had sacrificed themselves so that Harry might live.

He just didn't  _know_.

But Harry did know one thing with almost frightening certainty: he was more than a name, more than a title on a piece of paper. He was a person, complete with everything that meant.

"Did you want to add something to my name, maybe?" Harry asked. "'Cause, it's not that I mind or anything, I just kinda like being Harry."

Snape's lips twitched into something that  _might_ have been called a smile. "I'm sure. I have always been preferential towards Alexander."

Harry smiled a little. "It's a good name."

"But I was thinking more along the lines of your surname when I posed the question, Harry."

"Oh." Harry's eyes went a little wide at that. "Oh."

Did he want to be Harry James Snape, instead of Potter? It was just, his name was really the last thing he had left that his parents had given him. "Can't I have both? You know? Then I could just take whatever name I want to when I feel like it, maybe?"

Harry James Alexander Potter Snape.

"I know I kept telling everyone in New Orleans that I was Harry Snape, and I  _liked_ being Harry Snape. They still think I am. But my name is the last thing I have of my parents, too, at the same time, y'know?" Harry mumbled. "Is it selfish of me to want both? To be your kid as well as theirs?"

"No, I would not say it is selfish, boy," Snape replied, rather calmly. But he looked amused, too, if the glint in his eyes were anything to go by.

"Done?" Tinkkap's gruff voice interrupted with a sharp bark as he slammed two thick tomes down on the table.

"Apparently," Snape said, voice dry as sand.

"Good." Tinkapp then opened both books on the very last pages. From where Harry was sitting he could make out a detailed family tree upside-down.

Not looking away from the ceremonial dagger than had appeared on the desk long before the books, Snape spoke up. "If we are indeed related I would wager it is through a Black."

"Oh? Really?" Harry asked, leaning forward as he tried to get a better glimpse at the books, but Snape hauled him back with a quick tug at the back of his collar. Looking at the man, he received a stern headshake in the negative. "Snape?"

Snape ignored the half asked question in favour of the  _first_ half asked question. "The Blacks' obsession with blood purity was only slightly more diminished than the Princes' quest for the same."

"But you're a half-blood," Harry stated, coming off rather inane about it even to his own ears, much to his disgust.

"Precisely. I am also the last of the line, thus I cannot be disowned." Snape was smirking, looking rather pleased by that fact, if in a slightly disturbed way. "Mother's parents had heart attacks when they found out their only child had run off with a Muggle, or so I have been told."

"Dorea Black married into the Potter family 1938," Tinkkap stated. "Elladora Prince nee Hitchens married Constantine Prince 1889. Relationship is proved through the maternal line. The boy is eligible for use in the family registration act."

"So…he can adopt me, right?" Harry asked at once.

The gobbling rewarded him with a surly glare for his troubles. "That is what I just said. Clasp hands!"

Too startled to even think of disobeying, Harry was holding Snape's hand almost before the goblin had ordered him to do it. Snape rolled his eyes, but it didn't take any prompting at all on Harry's aide for the man to grip his hand as tightly as was required once Tinkkap had placed the dagger between their palms. Harry wanted to ask if there wasn't more to it than this, but before he could voice his questions, Tinkkap had grabbed Snape's and his joined hands, positioned them above the bowl, quickly twisted the knife and pulled it out. The Essence of whatever-it-was had been upended, and if Harry thought his palm had been stinging before, it was nothing against the pain that suddenly exploded in his hand as first the silvery liquid hit his wound, then the smoke from the now sizzling and hissing herbs in the bowl beneath Harry's and Snape's blood dripping hands.

"There. Done," Tinkkap declared. It had all been done in a matter of seconds. "Don't move."

Harry hissed and reflexively tried to pull away, but Snape's grip was hard as stone, and just about as movable as a boulder.

"Sorry," Harry gasped. "No one said anything about excruciating fucking pain!" he hissed.

"Do you want me to wash your mouth out?" Snape demanded.

Eyes narrowed, Harry shook his head. "Still bl—  _really_ hurts, though," he mumbled under his breath, quickly changing his mind about testing Snape when it came to swearing at the warning glare he received midsentence through.

"When the smoke abates you can pull your hand away," Snape informed him. "I am sure I can find a suitable plaster for you when we are done. Perhaps with a bunny motive?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I swear, Snape, one day I'm gonna get my revenge."

Snape merely smirked and didn't respond.

It was over very soon after that. Snape cleaned their bloody hands up with a flick of his wand, then wrapped clean bandages around first Harry's hand, then his own, ignoring Harry's attempt to help. While doing this, Snape informed Tinkkap of how they wished Harry's name to be altered, and as soon as that was done, the dour goblin finally appeared pleased.

"All unaccounted keys to the Potter trust vault are henceforth incompatible with the new addition of wards. Withdrawals surpassing the amount of one hundred galleons need to be approved by the family head, or else be annulled. Mr Snape, your access to the trust vault is now restricted."

With a start Harry realised the goblin had referred to him with Snape's name. It felt…weird, good, but weird. Then he registered what Tinkkap had just said. "Hey! What?"

"As a minor your keepers are in charge of your monetary assets. Master Snape cannot access them, but he is now responsible for you, therefore it is up to him to decide when you access your vault. We are done," Tinkkap concluded and rose from his chair. Within moments he was gone.

—x—

"I…don't like it," Harry told Snape the second they were back in the flat at Hogwarts.

"Me being responsible for you?"

Harry nodded. "Before Hogwarts, I had nothing. I was…nothing. My relatives saw to that. Then, when I turned eleven, I was a wizard. Hagrid gave me the key to my fault, and for the first time in my life I could make sure I wasn't hungry, or cold, or…" Harry trailed off. "But. And, I mean, I know you're nothing like them, but I don't like feeling…feeling like I'm  _depending_ on you for everything. I don't like feeling like I'm… I felt safe, knowing that if something bad happened, or I got thrown out, or lost, or was just hungry, I could somehow fix everything—"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying you used your Gringotts key as a security blanket?"

Harry blinked. He had to clear his throat several times, because, he realised abruptly, that was exactly what he had done. "How fucked up is that, huh?"

"Indeed," Snape just said.

Then he placed a hand on the back of Harry's neck and directed the teenager to sit on one of the chairs in the kitchen. "I have warned you numerous times, boy." Snape opened one of the cupboards and located a jar filled with aqua blue slivers and flakes. He pulled out one of them with a pair of pincers, then approached Harry with it held out.

"What?" Harry wondered, frowning a little. "I didn't—oh, fuck!" Harry's eyes widened in realisation. Now he got what Snape had meant by warning him several times, as well as had a horrible realisation of that he knew, _exactly_ , what that blue thing Snape was holding with his pincers was. "I mean, no, I didn't mean—"

Deftly and skilfully like the Potions Master he was, Snape deposited a sliver of something in Harry's open mouth without pause or hesitation, then he tugged the sputtering mouth closed with a finger. "Two minutes. Do  _not_ swallow."

Harry's glare was teary, indignant and just a smidgen ashamed. His cheeks flushed a light shade of red the longer he sat there with the disgusting piece of soap in his mouth and fought not to gag.

"You will not use such language again, will you?" Snape enquired silkily.

Harry hurriedly shook his head, his eyes desperately begging Snape for relief.

"One more minute," was all Snape had to say.

Harry whimpered.

* * *

 


	17. Chapter 17

Instead of unpacking the new books he'd bought in New Orleans, Harry spent most of that evening busy writing in his journal. There was just so much going on right now, happing in his head and in the real world that he was starting to have problems making sense of it all, not to mention not losing himself in the whirl of change going on around him.

Snape being in the centre of all that.

Snape always seemed to be in the midst of every problem, lately. Mostly it was in a good way, but there were times when Harry couldn't help but think that it had been easier before. Easier when Snape wasn't in charge of him, responsible for him. That's not to say it had been _good_ or even _better_ , just easier.

The problems with his inheritance would be easy to sort out. Snape was too much of a practical man not to have contingency plans for when everything came crashing down – which Harry sort of suspected it would, someday. Maybe. Nothing had ever been easy or good for him, not in the long run. Something always happened to send his world spinning upside down.

He was nervous about going to the Great Hall for dinner, nervous for what classes tomorrow would bring, nervous for what his future as Snape's ward– _son?_ a needy, wishful part of him usually buried deep inside whispered – would mean.

Harry was a bundle of nerves and agitated excitement.

After a while, he started writing several letters. One for Charlie, to thank for the Christmas present, then he wrote to the friends he'd made in America. It hadn't been all that long since he'd last seen Lukas and Steve, but Harry frankly didn't care. When he was writing, nothing else mattered; and that was _all_ that mattered. He was lost to the world, completely and utterly focused on describing a small misfortune the woman next to him on the plane had been involved in, consisting mostly of peanuts, a glass of water and a pair of headphones, when Snape knocked on the open doorframe to his room.

"I thought I asked you to unpack the last of your treasures from New Orleans."

Harry started a little, then rolled his eyes. "Too much stuff going on in my head," he muttered, even as he put away his half written letter in one of the neat little drawers in his desk. His journal went into another similar compartment kept secure by a locking charm. "Sorry, I'll do it later."

"Hmmm. Well, dinner is about to start. The train just pulled up in Hogsmeade."

Harry nervously began bouncing his knee. "I don't want to go," he blurted.

"Understandable," Snape said. He didn't leave his post in the doorway. "You realise you can't hide forever."

Harry nodded, smoothing his hands up and down his thighs. "Yeah. I mean, yeah, I get that, but…Ron, he's let my— who I am get to him before. What if…" Harry swallowed. "I can't forget that the first thing he ever said to me was if he could see my scar. He didn't care 'bout anything else, he just wanted to see if I was really Harry Potter. Every time we fall out, I keep hearing him ask, over and over." He looked at Snape. "You know?"

Snape nodded. "I do. But you can't lock yourself in here. And beating yourself down won't do you any good."

"I know," Harry whispered. "I'm working on it. It's why I write so much," he mumbled. "Helps me sort my head out."

Snape suddenly cleared his throat. Looking a little uncomfortable, he said, "I spoke with my colleagues regarding your desire to change names." The stilted way Snape set up the sentence spoke more of the man's insecurity than the stony expression on his face ever could have hoped to, or the forbidding tone of his voice, for that matter. "They agreed to openly enrol you anew. You will officially be a new student, once again recognised by all facets of this school."

Harry managed a smile even though he felt almost sick with nervousness and giddy anticipation.

It wasn't that he'd lied at Gringotts a couple of hours earlier about the way he felt about his name. It was just, if he went around by the name of _Snape_ on every official document and file, then maybe, if people suddenly remembered Harry Potter, he'd be protected and hidden under a new identity, another name, and that, _maybe_ , people wouldn't make the connection between the two identities.

That, and, well. If he went by Snape, then everyone would know who he belonged to. Where he belonged.

"How's this going to effect, y'know, the Dark Lord and all that?"

Snape merely shrugged. "Quite frankly I have no idea. Perhaps he'll think that I, too, have forgotten about you? Perhaps no one will make the connection. Perhaps my days as a spy are over." Snape looked sort of troubled. "Perhaps he won't notice."

Harry frowned, but before he could ask what Snape meant, the man had turned around. "Come along, Harry," he called over his shoulder. "Time to face the music."

With a sigh, Harry stood up. He was almost out of his room when Snape issued his next order: "And put a robe on, boy. Blend in."

Harry blinked, then looked down at himself. Worn, comfy jeans, scuffed trainers and a David Bowie T-shirt that had probably belonged to Snape at one point. So, yeah, he looked a bit like a misplaced Muggle rather than a wizard. So he fetched a robe, made sure it was clean and didn't smell, then put it on over his clothes. It even had the Gryffindor quest on it, and for the first time in a long while, he hoped it wouldn't make him stand out.

Snape was waiting by the door, looking amused and impatient.

"So…"

"Yes?"

Harry wet his lips. "If they remember, or if I want to, y'know, invite someone home… Can I?"

Snape blinked. "I see," he drawled. "I'll have to think about it. I realise that, normally, that is what you do. But this is where I work, where I live. My flat is the only place where I can escape to sanity. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, s'why I'm asking. And, I mean, I get that none of the other students have rooms of their own where they can hang out with their mates, but I do, so…" he trailed off.

"Yes," Snape agreed, "Therein lies the problem. Make sure you eat tonight, Harry."

Harry shot a startled look Snape's way. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean you're almost climbing the walls."

Harry swallowed. "Noticed that, huh," he mumbled.

"I tend to."

Smiling, Harry nodded. "All right, I'll try my best. I wasn't planning on not eating, you know. It's been a while since I last couldn't, you know, and I ate plenty of stuff over the holiday."

"I know," was all Snape said.

It was all he had time to say, because then they were in the Great Hall, and Harry was accosted by an overly energetic Tom who was talking a mile a minute about how absolutely brilliant his Christmas break had been. It would have been so easy – _too_ easy – to just follow Tom over to the Slytherin's table and eat like he had for so long now, but the whole point with removing the Obscuration Ward and the Perception Filter and then telling people who he was again was so that everyone would start to remember.

He couldn't do that from the Slytherin table.

"Harry?"

Harry swallowed, then ran a trembling hand through his hair. "I'm gonna sit with my table tonight, Tom."

Tom immediately scowled. "But they don't like you, Harry!" he protested with a terse whisper.

"I know." Harry cleared his throat. "It's sort of complicated, but I'll explain later, okay? I just…need to sit at my table tonight. I think Professor Snape might be a bit cross with me if I don't, especially after…everything," he said, sounding lame even to his own ears, but he couldn't really explain it to Tom. Well, he _could_ but not right now. He'd need a lot more time for that, preferably with Derek present, so he could act as a buffer of sorts.

"But—"

"We'll talk at club tomorrow, okay? I promise."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Okay, but I'll come get you right after your last class."

Harry smiled. "Deal."

For the first time in months, Harry headed for the table with the gold and red decorations underneath the banner of a roaring lion. Most people looked at him with distrust, suspicion or confusion. Some looked vaguely surprised, or as if there was something they ought to remember but couldn't. Harry didn't stop until he reached the end of the table, where Neville sat.

"Hi, um…is this seat taken?"

Neville looked taken aback, then paled, then went red. "Um, no. It's, uh, free."

With a shaky smile, Harry sat down next to Neville. "Hi. I'm Harry."

Neville nodded cautiously. "Yeah, you transferred in last year, right? I tried to talk to you, but you weren't interested, so I sort of guessed you'd, I don't know, try and change houses or something."

"I don't think you can do that," Harry mumbled, wetting his lips. His heart was pounding something awful beneath his breastbone. Everything Neville had just said had pretty much backed up Snape's theories. "But, um, I didn't transfer in." Harry took a deep breath. "I've been here since first year. I'm Harry Potter."

Neville blinked. "Harry…Potter?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Potter. We've been in the same dorm since first year. Well, except for last term, that is, but, essentially, yeah."

Neville looked faintly stunned, his brow furrowed as he looked intently at Harry. "Harry Potter. I…"

"Yes?"

"I've…no idea who you are."

Harry's heart broke a little, and his chin trembled. But he refused to back down, to move away. Not now; especially not now; he couldn't. If he stopped now, he might never gain the courage to try again, and he just _couldn't_ spend another day without knowing if he still had friends, if people would remember or not, if there was a chance to regain even a smidgeon of what he'd once had. "I taught you how to cast a Patronus last year. You don't remember that? Anything? You followed me to the Department of Mysteries, we—"

"Excuse me, but are you Harry Potter?" a familiar voice interrupted.

For a short moment, Harry's heart stopped, then it slowly started beating again.

Hermione was heartbreakingly familiar, her eyes kind and earnest, her hair bushy and wild, her clothes pressed and clean. More than anything, Harry wanted to leap over the table and hug her, but the look of puzzled confusion and blankness in her face, in her eyes, made Harry sit very still.

It made him a little ashamed to admit it, but he sort of felt relieved that Dumbledore chose that moment to stand up and wait for the Hall to fall silent.

Hermione sat down next to Neville, and Ron, who Harry had somehow managed to not notice, sat down next to her. The look on his face was one of puzzled suspicion. The short moment of relief and reluctant gratefulness he'd felt towards Dumbledore promptly vaporised when, two sentences in to his speech, he welcomed the new transfer to Gryffindor house:

Harry Snape.

Hermione blinked, Ron's face went blank and Neville looked terrified.

It didn't take long for the Gryffindor table to suss out who, exactly, the new kid was. Harry really didn't want to know how fast it'd take for the rest of the school never mind all the kids in Slytherin, but there wasn't much he could do about that from here.

When Snape had said that Harry'd be enrolled anew, he hadn't thought it'd be like this, all bluntness and no finesse what so ever to speak of. Judging by the thunderous look on Snape's face that was, curiously enough, mirrored on both McGonagall's and Pomfrey's faces, it hadn't exactly been planned to go down this way.

By the time the food appeared, Harry's hands were trembling so much he could barely hold his cutlery steady, much less raise a glass of milk to his lips to help ease the nausea he could feel swirling in his stomach. Right about now, he'd fucking pay to have some of Snape's miracle soup, or—

"Mister Harry Snape, sir!" A voice squeaked from behind him. It wasn't Dobby, but another one of Hogwarts' house elves. "From Mistress Pomfrey." It then snapped its fingers before vanishing again.

Where Harry's plate had been, a steaming bowl of tomato soup now stood, with a vial of the potion that seemed to increase his appetite while chasing his nausea away at the same time sat next to it. Feeling too grateful to question if Snape had told Pomfrey to do it or not, Harry eventually managed to open the potion and upended it in his soup.

It took him longer than it should to notice that Neville, Hermione and Ron were all staring at him.

"I, I—" Harry cleared his throat, then stirred the soup until the potion had seamlessly blended into it. "Eating disorder," he mumbled.

"Wouldn't it be more dangerous to depend on a potion to—"

"Yeah, but they only give it to me in extreme cases," Harry admitted, because regardless if she remembered him or not, it had always been so easy to talk to Hermione. "When it's more dangerous if I don't keep anything down. And I'm mostly okay, these days, it's just I was really nervous about today, and then Dumbledore just—" Harry coughed. "I think I was more worked up about, about this than I realised," he mumbled.

When Hermione said, "Look at me, Harry," Harry realised he'd mostly been talking to his soup. It took more effort than he was prepared to admit to sit straight and raise his head. "Mr and Mrs Weasley told us about you, of course, but until now I wasn't sure I believed them. But now, looking at you, talking to you, I can feel…something."

"Like, it's there, but there's a thousand spiders in the way," Ron added, his eyes slightly narrowed as he stared at Harry.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it's exactly like that."

"Dad." Harry paused, smiled and shook his head. "That is, Professor Snape said that was the whole point of the spell: that it'd make everyone too uncomfortable thinking too closely about it – me – so most just wouldn't even try to."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Yes, they wouldn't say, but what kind of spell was it? It doesn't seem feasible that here would be something, so, so _powerful_ around that just anyone could do at the spur of the moment. There must be a drawback, something—"

"Yeah, like, removing a person from history completely."

Hermione's face fell. "Oh, I, I didn't mean— I'm so sorry, I—"

Harry shook his head. "No, look. Dad, he explained it all to me, and the way I understood it, the, the Obscuration Ward and Perception Filter, those two, that's not terribly advanced or even difficult pieces of magic in themselves. It's the parameters and anticipating every single possible outcome that's tricky. It's that magic is sort of sentient that's so dangerous." He took a deep breath. "It's that those two spells in combination with each other sort of…reads the mind of the person they're attached to? Like, I was really down last summer, and there were a ton of problems I was working my way through, so the spells worked with that. I've always just wanted to be a normal, ordinary kid like everyone else, so, well, I guess the spells had a field day with me.

Then there's the fact that you shouldn't use magic like that on people in the first place because of all the possible complications, or that you shouldn't leave them on and active for more than, what was it, seventeen days or something because then the magic tends to root and not come off and mutate. I walked around with an earring that had an Obscuration Ward inside a stone with a Perception Filter on it for moths without even knowing I _had_ an earring. Dad was really miffed with Dumbledore," he murmured. "I've never seen him that angry before."

"Oh, believe me, he gets really pissed off every time—oh, right." Ron clenched his jaw, then ran a hand through his shock of hair. "Guess you'd know all about his hatred for Gryffindor, huh?"

Harry lifted a shoulder. "Suppose," he murmured. He stirred his soup, then steeled himself as he lifted a spoonful towards his mouth. If he closed his mouth, he even managed to put the spoon in his mouth and sort of swallow around it. "I used to hate him, like everyone else, I suppose, and then suddenly he's the only one who seems to really notice me any more. I guess I should've noticed something was up when Snape was the only one holding me up, but…" He shrugged. "I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

—x—

After dinner, Hermione dragged him off to an abandoned classroom. Not really having much of a choice in the matter, Ron followed, although he didn't really look all that thrilled about it.

"I started looking though my photo albums," Hermione said immediately. "I don't know how I could've missed it for so long. But, Harry: you're in almost all of them."

"The magic wanted me invisible, remember?" Harry wasn't really sure how much he was allowed to say and how much he wasn't supposed to talk about. Him and Snape, they hadn't really talked about it. He wasn't sure if he could tell them about the ritual Voldemort did or not. "Dad says the only ones who'll start to remember me now are the ones who felt strongly about me before. Because it's kinda uncomfortable to remember me, those who don't have enough, uh, motivation, I suppose, just can't be bothered to remember."

"It's just so barbaric, Harry," Hermione said softly, her eyes a little damp.

Harry nodded, lump in his throat. "Yeah, I know. You have to remember, I went from having friends and school mates that actually liked me, to _nothing_. No one'd talk to me, people looked at me as if I were an alien if I tried talking to them, someone kept going through my stuff, tossing my trunk out of the dorm, cursing and hexing my bed," he trailed off. "The only persons who really talked to me at all were a couple first years in Slytherin. It was just so easy to go where I was at least wanted, y'know?"

"I can understand that," Hermione whispered. "Ron?" she asked, and Harry turned around to see Ron, leaning against the door. He was looking kinda pale, and he was staring down at the floor as if it was the most fascinating object he'd seen all day.

"No one was hexing your stuff, mate," Ron blurted, all gruff. "It was just. I think the elves were a bit confused. There were only supposed to be four of us," he stuttered as he said the number, darting a quick glance at Harry, "But there were five beds, y'know? And someone kept putting their stuff there. I mean, blimey, I know it was you, _now_ , but back then we didn't really get if you really were in our house or not, y'know? You spent so much time with that Slytherin firstie that we weren't sure what to think. Sometimes our magic and the elves clashes."

"Oh."

Hermione was nodding. "Yes, I've read about that. It's the same with the goblins. We don't think the same, or work the same. Our biology is a bit different."

Wetting his lips, Harry sat back on his chair a bit. "But…do you remember me?"

They were both quiet, then, and Harry did his best not to really look at them, but he couldn't help sort of glancing at them either. These two had been the first and best friends he'd ever had. They weren't his only friends, not any more, but they were still important to him.

"Maybe," Hermione said, voice soft and low. "There's something itching in my brain. The more I poke it, the tenser it gets. It's like waiting for something to explode in your head. The mere thought of it is so disconcerting that I can see why you would really _need_ to want to know in the first place."

"Dad said—"

"Just, wait. Harry, _Snape_ is you _dad_?" Ron asked, sounding genuinely confused. "I don't get it. Mum said your name was Harry Potter, but Dumbledore called you Harry Snape. Which one are you?"

"Both?" Harry chanced. "Snape adopted me. Today, actually, but we'd been talking about it for some time now. Dad and I, we reckoned it'd be easier for me if I had a new identity. Strong emotions can be good and bad, so, you know."

"Uh-huh." Ron didn't exactly sound as if he understood that sentiment, but he at least came over and sat at the desk in front of where Harry was sitting, next to Hermione. "So, is it just on paper, or, what?"

Harry grinned. "Dad's kinda sneaky. I had no idea, but he takes an insane amount of joy using traditions and stuff against purebloods. We went to Gringotts to see if he could adopt me that way, which he could. Because, as you know, purebloods are all related. I think his exact words were something along the lines of: ' _purebloods are a hopelessly twisted and intermarried bunch_ ', and he sounded all snide when he said it, too. He's brilliant."

"He's _Snape_ ," Ron whined.

"I know. But he's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Now, see, mate, that just doesn't make sense!"

Harry rolled his eyes. He picked on the sleeves of his robe. Part of him missed how simple and easy everything had been in New Orleans – the _selfish_ part of him that just wanted quick and easy endings. But these were the two people he'd spent so much time missing that he couldn't just give up now, not when he finally knew why they'd fallen apart in the first place.

"Ron. _Everyone_ forgot me; _everyone_ I'd cared about who'd cared about me just _forgot_. But Snape didn't. Y'know, we'd been talking a little over the summer, and he'd helped me out when I needed something magical done that Charlie couldn't handle. And I spent a lot of time with Tom, the first year Slytherin, who I'd also met over the summer. It just wasn't that big of a leap to go talk to Snape instead of McGonagall, y'know? Dad'd helped me before, but McGonagall just, well."

There was the whole mess with Pomfrey as well, of course, and how to Harry's knowledge McGonagall hadn't even noticed that Harry moved from the dorm in Gryffindor tower, to the Room of Requirement, to Snape's spare bedroom.

"Nothing about this past year makes sense," Harry finished quietly.

—x—

That night, Harry went back home to sleep, just like he had for so long now and probably would continue to do for as long as he could get away with. He'd agreed to maybe sit with Hermione in some of the classes tomorrow and to meet up with her for an hour or so in the library before he had to go and play responsible at club night with the Slytherins.

But to get his friends to remember him… It'd take time. Time and patience. Harry wasn't sure if he had any, but then again, it wasn't like he had much of a choice in the matter.

Snape wasn't home when Harry came back to the flat, so he took advantage of the situation by doing something he hadn't exactly ever done before. He carefully went through Snape's collection of old records before settling on something he hadn't ever heard Snape play. He just hoped it was loud enough to kill the horrible empty void in him. The music wasn't necessarily angry, but it wasn't horrible, either. The picture on the front was black, sort of like a black plastic garbage bag that someone had sprayed water on and then written _SLIPPERY WHEN WET_ on through the droplets of moisture.

The best part of the record was that Snape hadn't ever played it, so Harry cranked the volume up to max. He almost got a heart attack for his troubles when the loudspeakers shouted out: _SHOT RHOUGH THE HEART_! But Harry supposed he didn't have anyone but himself to blame.

It wasn't until _Livin' on a Prayer_ came on that Harry realised he'd heard this band before – way more than once.

By the time Snape came home, Harry had shed his robe and was sliding around on his socks, singing along to the song on the top of his voice for the sixth time in a row.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, boy?"

"This is great!" Harry exclaimed, cheeks rosy. "I love Bon Jovi! Why didn't you ever play this one before? It's much better than _Aladdin Sane_ or that gay band you always listen to— _Woohooo! Livin' on a prayer~!_ "

"Harry—"

"And have you seen what he looks like? The singer? Super-hot, is all I'm saying."

Snape rolled his eyes. In the next instance, he'd lowered the volume of the music with a wave of his wand, then he grabbed Harry by the back of his neck and sat him down on the sofa before taking a seat next to him. "How did it go? With your friends."

Harry panted a bit from all the dancing and sliding and singing he'd been doing, but his good spirits crashed immediately. "They don't remember me. But I think they might, just not yet. Hermione wants me to sit with her in class tomorrow, and then study with her in the library. Ron, well, he'll probably tag along. He seemed more hung up on you than anything else, to be honest. I didn't even think about whether or not to mention Derek, or, you know, anything else. But, well. Baby steps."

—x—

"Potter, do you have a moment?"

Harry started; he'd barely closed the door behind him. Szmanda was waiting right outside of Snape's office. "How long've you been sneaking around here?"

Szmanda grinned. "Five minutes? I figured I'd give it another five, then wait 'till lunch."

"Huh." Harry scratched the back of his head through the mess that was his hair. "So…?"

"I thought I'd ask you about yesterday."

"Oh. Ok." Harry ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't slept all that good, and he was still nervous as hell about pretty much everything. "What parts of yesterday?"

"All of them? Snape adopted you?"

That brought a wide grin to Harry's face. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yesterday. So far, it's brilliant."

"Gringotts or Ministry?"

"Gringotts."

Szmanda chuckled. "That lovely old loophole, I take it?" Harry nodded. "And the part with the Gryffindors?"

Harry turned a thoughtful eye in Szmanda's direction. "Is this the Spanish Inquisition?"

"The nicer, Slytherin variation of it, anyway," Szmanda said with a grin. "Well?"

"How long have I been at this school?" Harry asked instead of outright answering the question.

Szmanda's eyes narrowed. "See, that's the part no one can agree on."

"Who remembers me?"

"They won't say, of course."

Harry nodded. "Slytherin politics?"

"Or something," Szmanda muttered. "I don't pretend to understand it all. But to get back to the matter at hand, Potter. I swear, you've more wiles than a snake. I can't recall you ever being here before. Malfoy, as I understand it, can."

"What do you know about Obscuration Wards and Perception Filters?"

Szmanda's eyes widened. Harry didn't really like that he looked excited more than anything, but then again, he'd sort of picked up on the fact that Szmanda studied magic like that when he was _bored_. It was frankly mental as far as Harry was concerned, but Harry hadn't exactly ever taken to magic the way Hermione had. Harry accepted that spell A equalled in result B, and that was that. Hermione kinda needed to know every little bit of information behind pretty much every facet of the spell. Szmanda was sort of the same, except he didn't seem to do the research to get better grades. No, _Szmanda_ did it because he was _bored_.

"Fascinating," he drawled, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

"No, it bloody well isn't," Harry snapped.

"But it is—"

"They were placed on me," Harry interjected before Szmanda could say whatever he was about to, and before Harry could talk himself out of it. "In June. Snape realised about a week before Christmas."

" _Oh_." The glint was still there in Szmanda's eyes, but it was tempered down by the way his face fell as he factored in the complications of the revealed bit of information.

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "So, no, I don't think it's fascinating."

"Yeah, I can appreciate that," Szmanda agreed. "I'll research it." Harry nodded, but didn't say anything. "Who did it?" he asked, then.

Harry hesitated. "It was…" he trailed off. "I think they wanted to protect me, keep me safe no matter where I was. But it backfired and they never bothered to remove it, or even tell anyone about it."

"A name?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think Snape'd want me to say. He has this way of always knowing every little thing you do that you're _not_ supposed to, right?"

"Right," Szmanda agreed. "If I didn't know better, I'd half have expected the man to have put up surveillance cameras."

Harry just snorted; he wasn't the least bit surprised that Szmanda was knowledgeable about Muggles. Slytherins were twofaced like that; on the one hand, they were perfect purebloods (regardless of the fact if they were a pureblood or not); on the other hand, as soon as they were with someone who wouldn't rat them out or try to take advantage of them (i.e.: Harry), they'd relax and let little details like the one Szmanda just admitted to slip.

"I wouldn't put it past him," he muttered.

Szmanda laughed, then he elbowed Harry in the side. "Eat breakfast with me?"

For half a second, Harry considered saying no and eating with the Gryffindors. It'd be awkward, yeah, and it probably was expected of him to 'conform to the norm' now. At the same time, he'd sort of made a point of being the only Gryffindor in Slytherin, such as it were. And, yeah, he'd mostly sat with the younger kids, but it wasn't like he'd never sat with Zabini, back in the day, or one of the fourth or fifth years.

So in the end, Harry smiled widely at Szmanda. Szmanda grinned back. "All right," he said, and that was that.

Just because everything was out in the open now, both about who Harry was and that people were starting to sort of notice him again, especially in Gryffindor, didn't mean he was just going to ditch all the new friends and acquaintances, however troublesome, he'd made in Slytherin this past term.

—x—

Classes were awkward, but not as bad as they could have been (McGonagall looked proud to the point where it made Harry thrum with nervous energy), and he still said hi to the Slytherins he knew, just like before.

Everything was just like before, only so much different. Ron looked askance at him when Malfoy pulled him aside after one class to have a short, matter of fact conversation with him. The conclusion was sort of like: " _you haven't thrown the kids to the wolves, so I won't kill you_ ," and Harry was okay with that, because his message to Malfoy sort of went like: " _I won't change and I bloody well like the kids; they're my friends, you moron_ ," so all in all, their tentative truce/status quo remained cool, if strenuous at times.

—x—

"Why d'you sit with the snakes, Harry?" was the first question out of Ron's mouth when Harry finally made it to the library after classes that afternoon.

Harry frowned a little. "They're my friends."

"But—"

"But, nothing, Ron," Harry said shortly. "I have friends there, end of story."

"I thought we were supposed to be your friends—"

"Oh, come of it, Ron. Since when can you only have two friends?" Hermione snapped, putting her bag down on the table as soft as possible considering all the books Harry suspected was inside it. "You're friends with half of Gryffindor, aren't you? I have study partners from other houses; it isn't _that_ remarkable, after all."

"In _Slytherin_?" Ron blurted out, eyebrows raised. "Since when?"

"Well, perhaps not here," Hermione relented. "But in Ravenclaw, certainly. You fancied that Hufflepuff back in October, didn't you?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron grumbled. "But they don't practice the Dark Arts under their beds, do they?

It was sort of disconcerting to realise, but without Harry there – certainly, with the absence of his 'fame' – Ron had mellowed out considerably. In the space of a term, he'd calmed, wasn't as rash or loud. And Hermione had matured. She was beautiful and poised in a way Harry hadn't really noticed before.

"They don't, you know," Harry interjected with a quiet, tired voice. "Practice the Dark Arts. Snape'd have their heads if they did, and he kinda incurs respect, y'know? In the dungeons, no one steps out of line."

It was true, too, but it wasn't always necessarily because of Snape. There was a hierarchy in the dungeons that couldn't be found anywhere else in the school. It didn't matter who you were or what your position was, the bottom line was that you didn't step out of line, didn't step on anyone's toes and kept your machinations for a 'higher' rank to yourself. Come to think of it, the fact that Snape had adopted him had probably earned him a boatload of points, should Harry ever wish to use them.

Mostly, Harry was just content to sit back and let others deal with the constant power plays. He had his club nights, his kids, and all the friends he needed. For the moment, he and Malfoy seemed to be on the same side which appeared to be in Harry's favour, and then there was Szmanda, who kept him informed on what he needed to know – or made sure the Slytherins were informed of what they needed to know. most of the time, it all went way above Harry's head, but whatever it was the Slytherins got up to, it _worked_.

From across the table, Hermione smiled at him. "Are you going to Hogsmeade next week?" she asked.

Harry shrugged and ran a fidgety hand through his hair; he have to decide about a haircut soon, if he wanted one or not. He'd sort of forgotten about all the Hogsmeade dates, what with all that had been going on lately. "I don't know. I've to discuss it with Dad, I think."

Hermione seemed to think that was perfectly sensible, even if Ron scrunched his nose up and seemed to earn himself a swift kick to the shins. At least judging by his sudden grunt of pain.

"Maybe we could meet up there," Hermione continued to say. "Maybe at the Three Broomsticks. I've been thinking about this – you and us," Here she paused, indicating with a hand motion exactly who she meant. "I think it'll work best if we slowly ease ourselves into it, instead of rushing headlong."

It seemed perfectly logical and, like Hermione had said, _sensible_. That still didn't meant that Harry wasn't nervous about it, or that he wasn't quietly fretting to himself about what it would mean, in the end.

Most of all, he just _wanted_.


End file.
